


A Son Of Ice and Fire

by bobsanders



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 119,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobsanders/pseuds/bobsanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Game of Thrones hiatus got you down? The eternal wait for The Winds of Winter making you sad? This is the story for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

\---Jon---

Jon poured all his energy into the work to be done over the next couple of weeks. And there was a lot to be done. The Boltons had done a fair job of rebuilding Winterfell after the state the Greyjoys had left it in but they had rushed the work in some areas and in others they were not familiar enough with the original structures to know they best way to rebuild. Jon knew though.

He was intimately familiar with the entire castle, due to his time spent by himself growing up a bastard in Winterfell.  

_And now they call me king and sing my praises._

He didn’t feel like a king, but if the people of the North were willing to place their trust in him, then he was determined to earn it. Jon worked from sun up till sun down with his men, an amount that grew smaller and smaller with each passing day. Winter had indeed come.

The gate needed replaced obviously, and many ramparts and stairs that had been lost in the fires still needed restored. Many other buildings needed replaced along the interior of the outer wall and Jon welcomed the work.  Slowly but surely, bit by bit, piece by piece, Winterfell was reconstructed exactly as he remembered it from before. Before his world had been turned upside down.

Rebuilding the North was a task requiring more than just rebuilding structures. It was the relationships that needed reforging the most. Minor squabbles were a daily occurrence between Manderlys, Glovers, Mormorts and most of all the Free Folk. He knew this would continue to be an issue as long as everyone was together in close quarters, but at this point it was unavoidable. Winterfell was bursting at the seams with people again and there were bound to be squabbles.

It was during one such squabble that broke out when Jon realized the situation was quickly coming to a head. He was not sure what started it but he happened upon a few Free Folk threatening a pair of Robett Glover’s men by the gate near midday.

“You cunts weren’t even brave enough to stand with us against the Bolton scum. What makes you think you will be ready once the Dead arrive.”

The voice was easily recognizable as Tormund. He was one of the loudest supporters of Jon and the most contentious with the rest of the men of the North.

“Not that they would be much good in a fight anyways,” said another one of the Free Folk who Jon could not place. “If they fight as hard as they work, they might as well go back to their farms.”

The men who Jon remembered were some minor knights sworn to House Glover, seemed ready for blows before Jon stepped in.

“Tormund what is this? We have enough enemies without us fighting amongst ourselves.”

Tormund began to grumble something but Jon cut him off before he could complete his thought.

“Now that the repairs to Winterfell are almost complete we need to decide upon our next course of action. Gather the leaders of the Free Folk. Tonight we will look to the future.”

Tormund grunted in the affirmative before giving the Glover knights a dirty glare and storming off.

Jon let out a sigh of relief as the tension slipped away.

 _Bloodshed avoided but for how long._ He turned around and began to trudge back through the thickening snow that covered the courtyard. It had been falling softly for weeks now and it seemed a constant struggle to keep it from blanketing everything in the North. He didn’t mind the snow. Everything seemed so peaceful in the snow even if that was far from the case once you dug underneath. He glanced up to one of the newly finished ramparts adorning the outer stone wall and caught glimpse of fiery red. Sansa’s hair stood out against the stark landscape. It was good to see her hair returning to its normal shade.

_She deserves whatever normalcy in her life she can get. Even the small things. The things she endured…_

His relationship with Sansa was another important thing that needed rebuilding in the North. They had never been close, naturally, with Sansa following her mother’s lead in her disdain for the bastard living in Winterfell. Still all of that animosity had seemed for naught when they finally found each other after so long apart. To meet a member of the Starks again was something that Jon had long ago given up hope on. To see Sansa alive had brought Jon more joy then he thought possible.

Yet all was not well. She was not the carefree girl he remembered. She was loath to give up much information about her time away from Winterfell and her return and marriage to that Bolton bastard but from what he gathered it wasn’t pretty.

_Well with Littlefinger whispering in her ear at every turn what do you expect. And it’s not exactly like I’m a joy to be around either…_

Littlefinger was a problem that needed to be dealt with but Jon was not sure how. The Game was not his area of expertise and that was what he needed at this time. The battle for Sansa’s soul was not one he was sure how to wage.

_My fists or sword won’t solve this problem. In fact the best person I know of to solve this problem is Sansa herself._

Jon found himself lost in thought but was brought back by the abrupt turn of Sansa up on top of the wall. She caught him staring for a second and gave him a small smile and nod.

 _Gods she looks like her mother._ Sansa moved to descend the stairway and Jon headed over to meet her at the bottom.

“Two riders approach in the distance,” Sansa stated. “I can’t be sure, but if I had to guess by the riders stature, I would say that it is Brienne and Pod."

Word had reached Winterfell of their failure to draw the Blackfish to their cause and his subsequent demise. Still it would be good to have Brienne back with them. Not only was she a formidable warrior,  but she was a calming presence for Sansa. Most importantly she despised Littlefinger and Jon was happy for Sansa to have someone by her side again other than himself who shared this opinion.

“Let us go to greet them then.”

Jon offered Sansa her arm which she accepted, and the two walked slowly towards the gate in silence. The newly built gate was an impressive, if unadorned, addition to the Gatehouse. A shout came from above signaling that the riders were indeed who Sansa presumed they were and Jon gave the order to open the gate.

The gate opened and a weary, odd looking pair rode ragged horses through the gate. Brienne sat straight in the saddle her back straight as an arrow but she seemed thinner than Jon remembered, gaunt even. Pod crouched low in his saddle as if this would keep the winds that howled constantly outside Winterfell’s walls at bay. Once inside they quickly dismounted and Sansa rushed to Brienne’s side.

“Tell me of my great uncle. We have heard the worst. Is it true he has fallen?”

Brienne looked down at her feet and replied, “It would appear so my lady. The Lannister’s took the castle with nary a fight. Edmure walked in and surrendered the castle but the Blackfish would not hear of it. We tried to convince him to accompany us but he refused.”

“Riverrun was his home,” Sansa smiled through fresh tears, “He would never abandoned it. It does me well to see you alive Lady Brienne. And you as well Pod.”

Pod blushed unused to receiving attention from so fair a lady. “Come inside both of you. You look a fright and seem about to faint.”

Sansa ushered them further into the castle. “We will have food and drink brought for you in the great hall. Come”

Jon nodded to Sansa as she passed by and he went to get a stableboy to attend to the new guest’s mounts.

_More bad news for the North. Does it ever end. At least Brienne and Pod survived unscathed. Her sword will be a welcome addition in the days to come._

Jon spent the rest of the afternoon sending word to the rest of the leaders of the various northern houses as well as Lord Yohn Royce and much to his chagrin, Littlefinger.

_As much as I hate him, it would be folly to attempt to leave him out of what is to come. The slight alone might be enough to set him off…_

Evening came and Jon found himself seated at a large table at the head of the great hall of Winterfell. A minor feast was in session, nothing too extravagant as Winter was upon them and care had to be taken towards the provisions. The one thing the Boltons had done right was to resupply Winterfell till its storerooms were fit to burst. They had prepared for a siege, were it to occur, and so Jon had lucked out in at least one regard.

The people of the north outside Winterfell were not so lucky however as the Boltons had stolen must of the food and supplies now inside Winterfell from them. Jon and sent riders out far and wide declaring that none who made for Winterfell would be turned away and so far a steady stream of people had been making their way towards the castle. Winter Town was rapidly filling up although not as quickly as Jon had anticipated. The north’s population had been decimated in recent years due to the constant fighting.

There was a subdued atmosphere around the room due to the circumstances of the gathering but still a slightly raucous affair. Bawdy jokes were shouted here and there and the ale flowed freely. This might be the last time these men could enjoy themselves in a long while and most were ready to take advantage of that fact. Seated to Jon’s right was Davos. Davos maintained the sullen attitude that Jon was used to him having but he cracked a smile every once in a while.

_Davos seems to have benefited the most from Melisandre’s absence. It is for the best that she is gone. The people of the North would not look kindly on my association with her strange religion._

Sansa sat to his left eating politely as a lady should and sitting to her left was the Lady Brienne. Pod was nowhere to be seen but Jon was sure he was enjoying himself thoroughly somewhere out in the crowded room. Sansa would glance every so often to the corner of the room that Littlefinger occupied along with several men of the Vale. The men around him were whispering amongst themselves but Littlefinger had eyes only for Sansa. Jon could tell it was making Sansa uncomfortable but she was doing her best to hide it.

_One problem at a time. I better get on with this before everyone is too drunk to remember anything of this night._

Jon signaled to Davos who nodded back and stood up. He pounded on the table thrice then raised his arms for silence. A few shouts of ‘The King in the North!’ were heard before finally everyone in attendance quieted. All eyes were on him. Jon took a deep breath and began.

“I want to thank everyone here and everyone not in attendance for help reclaiming Winterfell and the North. Not only on the battle field but in the hearts of all her people.” This led to a round of cheering and table pounding before everyone settled down again.

“As we Starks were so fond of predicting, Winter has indeed come.” This drew chuckles from the crowd but Jon carried on, “And this Winter if we are not careful could indeed be our last.” This seemed to sober up the crowd.

“We have rebuilt Winterfell but the rest of the north is still in shambles. People are scattered and vulnerable. We have done well in the past weeks to help as many as we can but we still have a long ways to go. I will not rest until I have earned the faith that you and your people have placed in me.”

Jon glanced briefly at Tormund, “I know many of you were loath to allow the Free Folk to live amongst yourselves but I am proud to say that for now there is peace. The Free Folk are not the enemy. They have traveled south of the Wall on my bidding to escape the real enemy.”

At this Jon noticed some glance around the room. He knew that still many were not convinced of the true threat of the Dead. Most northerners had spent their entire lives believing the White Walkers were nothing more than myths. The men of the Vale were the worst. They seemed to openly scoff at the notion.

“And while we have won a great victory here in the North, we are all aware of the threats that remain to the south. The Freys loom large at the twins and the Lannisters, while weakened some of late, still remain. We cannot let the deaths of so many of our kin go unpunished.” This drew growls of affirmation from many in attendance.

“I say all of this to remind us how far we have come yet how far we still have to go. I would ask all of the Lords in attendance here tonight to retire with me to the solar so that we can further address these issues. The rest of you enjoy yourselves. You have earned it!” This drew open cheers from many in attendance who promptly went back to drinking and conversing with one another.

Jon noticed Sansa smiling openly at him and he blushed. _I can’t tell if she is mocking me or genuinely pleased. It is so hard to tell these days._

He asked Sansa if she would like to join and she nodded her head in acceptance. He offered her his hand and she took it as she rose from her seat. He noticed Lord Manderly, Lord Glover, Lady Mormont and various other northern lords rising to follow him. Littlefinger rose as well.

He led them down the hall and to the second floor. There they entered a room with a roaring fireplace and a round table. Wine had been placed around the table and enough seats had been brought in to accommodate everyone.

Jon offered Sansa a seat at the table but she declined whispering, “Let me watch and observe.” He nodded as she took a seat by the fire her hair glistening from the glow as she sat. Jon shook his head to clear it. He would need his wits for the rest of the evening to come.

The others filtered in the room and sat around the table. Littlefinger was the last to join sitting directly across from Jon. Davos found his place by Jon’s side. When everyone was settled in Jon began.

“The way I see it we have two problems. If we stay in the north, we will have to fight the Dead before the Winter is over. If we move south now to escape, we abandon many of our people who have yet to find their way to Wintefell. We also would be marching directly into lands in possession of our enemy, the Freys and their allies, and eventually the Lannister’s. While we have grown stronger together of late, we are still not ready for either fight.”

Jon looked around the table at the grown men waiting for him to reveal his plan that would deliver them to salvation and sighed. “Obviously neither is a viable option but what alternatives do we have? Right now we are woefully unprepared for either and are lacking in regards to the current state of the realm. The last news we have had from the south came with Lord Royce and this information is weeks old. We have also yet to hear from the Wall since I left and knowing what is coming makes this a disturbing thought. We need more information if we are to make an informed decision.

Jon opened his mouth to continue speaking but before he could begin Littlefinger cut in, “Might I make a suggestion, Lord Snow.” Jon noted he refused to call him King Jon like most of his banner men had taken to calling him. “Let me ride south and learn more. I am of little use on the battlefield but give me the opportunity and I will clear the way South for you.”

Jon hesitated. In truth he had thought about proposing this for these same reasons that Littlefinger had just stated. Jon yearned to be free of Littlefinger’s cloying presence but he was not sure what was worse. Having your enemy free to run around and cause mayhem unobserved or keep him close and have him cause trouble close to home.

He turned to glance at Sansa trying to gauge her opinion on this matter but she gave him nothing. Her face remained blank and expressionless. Jon glanced around the table but most of the Lords seemed to be amenable to the situation. No doubt as ready as he was to be rid of him.

Jon was resolved to make the best of a bad situation and so nodded saying, “I give you leave Lord Baelish. I would advise you take some of Lord Royce’s men as your retinue when you leave, providing he will allow this.” Lord Royce murmured his agreement and the matter was settled.

“So while Lord Baelish goes to prepare a way south should we decide to take it,” Jon continued, “We need to gather more intelligence on the status of the Wall. Seeing as how there are those still among us who do not believe in the true threat that lies to the north, now is the time to educate them.”

Several of the lords looked around uncomfortable but Jon pressed on, “I ask each of you to designate men you trust and together aided by some of the Free Folk, we will send a war party to the Wall. Let us pray they find it intact when they arrive.”

“What do you expect to find once these men reach the wall,” one of the men at the table spoke up. Jon thought he recognized him as a Tallhart but he was not for certain.

“Pray they find nothing and all is well,” Jon spoke, “For if they run in to trouble at the Wall may the Gods help us all.”

“While this excursion takes place, I will lead the recovery efforts to gather all of our people together.”

Tormund spoke up, “Aye, like Mance gathered the Free Folk together. Snow will gather you southerners. I am lucky to fight besides two such men in my lifetime.” Tormund it also seemed refused to call Jon anything other than Snow, or Lord Snow yet Jon did not care. At this point he could tell the difference between respect and disrespect from the Free Folk.

“Coming from you Tormund there could be no higher praise. Yes, I will do my best to lead my people to safety as Mance did. Once we have more information we can decide our best course of action.”

The meeting devolved into planning the manpower required for each of the three tasks set before them. It was decided that half of their force would make for the Wall with what horses they had left from to them by the Knights of the Vale. A much smaller party would make for the Twins with Littlefinger in an attempt to ascertain the Frey’s current intentions. Jon would take the remaining able bodied men and scour the North one last time in an attempt to gather everyone to Winterfell.

Menial daily tasks were discussed and rations debated with many fearing rightfully so that they would not have enough supplies to feed everyone for long. Even with Winterfell stock as it was, it was not intended to feed the entire North.

Discussion and debate carried on deep into the night until Jon had decided he had had enough for one night. The lords and lady dismissed themselves one by one and Jon noticed that Sansa had slipped out as well at some point in the past. Once everyone had left to return to their own chambers for the night Jon left the room to do the same.

He was dead tired and the wine he had consumed as the night progressed did not help his senses. He half walked; half stumbled to the room he called his own. The same room he had spent so many years in growing up. Right as he was about to enter his room he heard rapid footfalls approaching. His mind suddenly clear and with pain flaring in his chest he spun around his hand going to his hip before remembering he was not carrying Longclaw. His fright was for naught however as it was only a serving boy approaching.

The boy stopped and bowed before Jon, and he nodded in return. A small, rolled up and bound note was presented to Jon who accepted it and dismissed the boy. Jon entered his room, shut the door, and began to read.

 

\---Sansa---

 

Sansa left Jon’s council meeting long after the conversation had gone from useful to mere bickering. She could only take so much of men jockeying for power or sucking up to whoever was in favor.

 _Jon may have forgotten how many of these men turned their backs on us in our hour of need, but I have not._ _And the one who was willing to help is the most dangerous of them all._

She smiled at that thought. Finally after all these years she knew for sure what Littlefinger wanted. Her. She wondered if anyone had ever convinced Littlefinger to share with them his true desires. She doubted it.

Still, knowing Littlefinger’s true ambitions was not enough. It was one thing to know, another to act in a manner that would counteract his plans. For Sansa had no allusions that Littlefinger was scheming. As soon as the lords of the North had declared her brother King of the North she knew Littlefinger began planning his downfall. Jon was too good, too noble, too much like their father to understand the depths of Littlefinger’s depravity. Jon needed protecting as much from himself as from his enemies. Sansa had failed her father. She would not fail her only remaining family.

Sanas walked through the Godswood. The light from the full moon shown down on her through the bare branches of the trees. She came here often since they had reestablished their home in Winterfell. The woods had a sense of familiarity about them that Sansa felt most comforting. Anything to remind her of a time before she had left Winterfell.

Her figure was finally returning and her hair shining again after the weeks of living at Winterfell. Being home had done much to restore her health after spending time on the road with Jon and his army but she knew the physical toll on her body was not the problem.

_No matter. I am done feeling sorry for myself. Done feeling helpless and blaming others for my situation._

Sansa heard a wolf howl in the distance and felt a brief pang for Lady. _After all this time and the runt of the litter is the one still standing._

Sansa found herself thinking of the other White Wolf again, and decided she had had enough fresh air. She tightened her coat around her, got up and headed back towards the keep. There was no one about at such a late hour save for a few guards at chokepoints who gave signs of acknowledgement that she returned before passing by in the night.

She stopped by the council room but it appeared that everyone had retired for the night. She debated whether or not to seek her own quarters before noticing that her feet were already leading her towards Jon’s.

She paused before knocking on the door waiting to see if she could hear Jon moving around inside. She heard nothing but went ahead and knocked anyway, three sharp raps on the door.

The door swung open and she stared at Jon hard. She had to stop herself from gasping audibly. Staring at Jon’s solemn face with his dark hair and his dark grey eyes, it was almost as if her father was reborn again. 

_I should be used to this by now but I am not. In fact I may never get over the resemblance…_

Jon looked surprise to see and Sansa finally pulled her gaze away from his face long enough to hear him ask, “Sansa, what are you doing here? Is everything ok?”

“Yes of course. I wanted to check in with you and see how the rest of your meeting with the other lords went.”

 _Lie,_ she thought to herself, _Why am I really here?_

“It went as well as one could possibly hope I suppose,” Jon replied tiredly, “Come and sit down for a minute.” Jon stepped aside holding the door for her and gestured for her to step into the room.

Sansa obliged and made for one of two stark wooden chairs sitting next to a rough wooden table by a small fireplace. A small fire was burning, just enough to keep the room from being uncomfortably cold but still far too cold for her taste.

_Jon got his love of the cold from father as well. A true northerner through and through._

Jon noticed her shiver slightly and began to apologize, “Sorry, the cold doesn’t seem to bother me anymore after spending so much time at the Wall.” He placed a few more split pieces of wood on the fire and it roared to life.

It was only then that Sansa even realized that Jon was naked from the waist up. She had heard of his ordeal.

 _Do you call death an ordeal? How do you describe the indescribable?_  

But she had yet to see the physical proof of it. Seven pink lines adorned his hard and lean frame.

Jon caught her staring and came to sit down in the chair beside her.

“Crazy isn’t it. Impossible but yet here I am living proof.”

“A miracle is what this is,” and yet Sansa was well aware there was no such thing in the world they lived in.  

She reached out to touch one of the lines but stopped when she realized what she was doing. Jon laughed then, “Go ahead. I won’t break. Somehow these wounds have healed like any other even thought they were fatal.”

Sansa touched the pink scar just over Jon’s touch and he seemed to tense reflexively. It was rippled and course but other than that skin all the same. What had happened to Jon showed that there was still good in the world contrary to what Sansa had started to believe even if she didn’t understand it.

She leaned back in her seat then and noticed Jon studying her face.

“So what do you think of our plans. I know the last time we had this conversation following an important meeting you told me my plans were folly and I was an idiot,” Jon said with a wry grin. “And unfortunately you were right. Did I do any better this time?”

Sansa paused before answering that, “Looking out for the people of the North is definitely the right decision. The people already love you for ridding them of the Bolton’s and with the help you have been giving them since, you have more than earned their respect. And while I find it hard to believe everything you say about your time at the Wall, it is undeniable that what you have seen and endured is not of this world.”

Jon nodded then but she continued, “But Jon, trusting Littlefinger with anything is folly. You must know he only came to your aid out of self-interest and no other reason. The moment that you are of no use to him he will discard you without a second thought.”

“Sansa don’t you think I know that? I have looked at this thing from every option and this is the only choice I have. No one else is as skilled or cunning at negotiating and diplomacy as he is or-”

“We don’t need either of those at this time,” Sansa interjected. “We should be looking at how best we can crush the Freys to get to the Lannisters. Not try and make peace with them."

“Trust me Sansa. I have not forgotten what the Freys took from us nor will I ever,” Jon said with a hard look. “But we have so many enemies right now and we cannot fight a battle on all fronts. We have to focus on the true enemy not only of the north but of all mankind. Better to deal with the enemy that I know in Littlefinger than-”

“But you don’t know him that’s the problem,” Sansa rushed on. “You think you do but you don’t. Just because you have dealt with people like him in the past does not mean you understand this man. He is unlike anyone you have ever faced.”

“I can promise you this Sansa, Littlefinger may be one of a kind but so is the Night King. And while Littlefinger breeds lies and deceit, the Night King brings death and destruction. How are we to survive if we are to winter in the North? And how are we to survive if we head south without first clearing the path of obstacles.”

“Before you interrupt again,” Jon held up his hand with a note in it prompting her silence,” You need to read this.”

Sansa took the note from his hand and read it while Jon ran his hands through his hair thoughtfully.

_Walder Frey is dead. Tommen is dead. Cersei is queen._

_All hail the King in the North_

_No One_

Sansa flipped the note over seeing no seal or other indication of who had sent it. _No One. Who signs a note with No One. And Gods Walder and Tommen are dead?_

She had borne Tommen no particular ill will during her time at King’s Landing. He was a meek and docile boy who was completely unfit to rule however. She was surprised he had lasted this long actually.

Cersei as queen was a horrific thought but she pushed past that to focus on the more immediate matter at hand. Walder Frey was dead.

_And I hope his death was every bit as horrific as his life._

With Walder gone and the possibility of a power vacuum in the Riverlands, this was indeed a good sign for them. One which she would have to work to take advantage of.

“See”, Jon whispered, “This is the good news we have been waiting for. If Littlefinger can take advantage of the situation at the Twins we might be able to gain passage across the river. Obviously I would love to bring nothing but death and destruction to every Frey possible but now I have the entire north to think about. I no longer can do as I please.”

“Yes. And remember how well that worked out for the Starks the last time we made a deal with the Freys.”

The both sat in silence for a while reflecting on what they had lost. Jon stared into the fire his mind lost in some memory that Sansa could only guess at. An idea popped into Sansa’s mind. She knew Jon would not like it but she did not see a good alternative at this point. She steeled herself for his inevitable reaction.

“Jon, send me instead to speak to the Freys.” Jon looked up startled from the fire and Sansa continued before he could stop her, “We both agree that we cannot trust Littlefinger and I begrudgingly understand your point of view regarding the Freys. I have spent the most time with Littlefinger. I know his way of thinking and unfortunately how to act the same way as he does. Let me use this to our advantage.”

“Absolutely not,” Jon replied harshly. “I just got you back and you expect me to send you away again into that hell hole? What kind of brother would I be?”

“One who has to think about more than just one person and instead think of the entire North,” Sansa countered. “We no longer have that luxury anymore.”

“I would rather risk trusting Littlefinger then risk your life Sansa. You are the only family I have left.”

“I am not a little girl anymore Jon,” Sansa replied growing angry. “I can take care of myself. You said we would have to learn to trust one another going forward. You ask for my trust yet give me none of yours in return.”

She could tell this hurt him by the pained expression that crossed his face. She had hit a nerve. She had been unsure how he felt towards her but now it was confirmed.

_And why should I be surprised that he does not trust me. Do I even trust him? Jon, who I spent my entire childhood growing up with and still I can’t bring myself to trust him here in our home of Winterfell._

Everything she had seen of Jon since they had been reunited seemed to indicate that he was a good, maybe even great man. Yet too many times she had seen absolute power corrupt. She hoped that this would not be the case with Jon and so far it had not been. But gone were the days when she believed in fairy tales and happy endings for everyone.

_The good do not inherit the earth, they are buried by it._

She stood up suddenly very tired. _This is getting us nowhere and will only cause more trouble than good._

She made for the door and heard Jon say behind her, “Please Sansa. I can’t lose you too.”

 _I am already lost,_ she thought but instead she whispered, “You know nothing Jon Snow.” And slipped off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

\---Daenerys---

 

The spray of the ocean collided with the bow of the ship and coalesced into a spray that left Daenerys feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world.

_And take on the world I shall._

Her armada had been sailing for weeks now, stopping in Dorne to pick up Varys and the combined naval might of the Tyrells and the Martells. Her Dothraki and Unsullied had been anxious to leave the wooden homes that they had called home for far to long, but Daenerys was determined not to rest. She had a bigger goal in mind than the immediate comfort of her army. King's Landing was the target and that goal was now in sight. 

_For how reluctant my army was to board these ships, it is a wonder they have not fared worse._

Minus the seas sickness, which was to be expected, and the complaining that continued day and night, her army was by and large intact. She had left more Dothraki then she would like with Darrio but simply put, she did not have the number of ships to take the entire horde. All in all, she was very pleased with the progress they had made. 

She was even more pleased when they landed in Dorne and Varys announced that the Tyrells and Martells would indeed be allying themselves to her in a bid to right some previous wrongs they felt the Lannisters had dealt them. 

_No matter their claims of injustices done to them, none can be greater than my own._

The wind was at their back and the sun high in the sky, a clear warm day. She heard someone clear their throat and she turned slightly to her left, "Hand."

"Queen," came the measured response from her newest Hand of the Queen, Tyrion. "How fair you this day?"

"Better than I can remember in a long time. After all these years and here I am on the precipice of getting everything I want."

Tyrion frowned at that, "I would urge caution my Queen. Often what we want and what we need are different things entirely."

"So you say," responded Daenerys. "But this time we shall see. Vengeance will be served and I will take my rightful place on the throne."

Tyrion bowed his head and said, "And that cannot come soon enough. There is just the matter of taking the city. I for one, know how formidable a task that can be."

Daenerys' eyes sparkled, "Yes, I am sure you do. And soon you will be able to prove your value. You have intimate knowledge of King's Landing and its defenses. Using this knowledge we will bring the city to its knees with as little damage done to its inhabitants as possible. After all, these people need my protection. They need not be afraid of me. Those corrupt leaders that have led their people astray however..."

Daenerys paused in thought. Little birds had found their way to Varys while he was in Dorne describing the current status of the realm. King Tommen was dead. Cersei had declared herself Queen after blowing up the Sept which had seemed to cause a rift between her and her brother if rumors were to be believed. In the Riverlands, the Freys were a mess having lost several key members of their house and to the north well...The North was the subject of many rumors. That the Boltons were defeated, this much was known but little was known about who had actually defeated them. Some said the Nights Watch had fallen and allow a horde of wildings to poor into the North raping and pillaging as they went. Others said the North rallied around the ghost of Ned Stark and his wife to reclaim their home.

_And on top of it all, we still do not know enough about the whereabouts of the Iron Fleet._

The Iron Fleet was completed albeit not in the numbers that Euron had wanted, if the information Varys received could be trusted. So far no one knew exactly where that fleet was or their exact intentions and this worried Daenerys. She did not like surprises. In her situation, information was key.

Daenerys noticed Tyrion staring at her inquisitively, "Sorry, I got lost in thought there for a second. Were you asking me something?"

"No need to apologize. You have more on your plate then anyone right now and a good dose of thinking can only do us good. I was asking, have you heard anything from the army of the Tyrells and Martells? An odd coupling at that."

"They move North towards Casterly Rock. With any luck, they should meet only light resistance, the Lannisters spread thin as they are, and should begin the attack any day now. With our fleet hitting them in the east and the army hitting them in the west, the Lannisters will fold."

She noticed a slight twinge of what might be anguish from the little Lord before remembering that he was after all still a Lannister.

"I hope Casterly Rock is not treated too poorly. By and large the small folk there are innocent of any wrongdoing."

"I have instructed Ellaria to give orders to her men that anyone found guilty of unnecessary violence against the common people will be dealt with severely," Daenerys assured him. "We come to rescue, not enslave."

_Yet Tyrion knows as well as I that thousands will die anyways. I pray this will all be worth it in the end._

Tyrion smiled sadly and nodded his head in agreement. Overhead the dragons circled endlessly causing shadows to dance across the waves covering ship by ship in shade for a brief instant only to be gone the next. A commotion at the rear of the ship drew Daenerys attention and Tyrion turned as well to see what was going on. A man, who Daenerys identified as the ships communication officer, was signaling with his arms and flags rapidly back in forth with a ship trailing them beyond shouting distance. He seemed to be flustered and Daenerys sensed that something was amiss.

She began making her way to the stern of the ship, careful as she walked so as not to be upended by the steady rock of the ship. Tyrion followed her close behind. As she reached the aft of the ship, the communicator dropped down on one knee before her.

"Report," she commaded.

"My Queen," the man hesitated, "It is Euron. The Iron Fleet. They have found us."

 

\---Tyrion---

Fire burned brightly all around him, and the taste of blood hung in the air so thick it clogged his senses.

_So this is what it was like for those poor souls at Blackwater Bay._

The Iron Fleet had set upon them from behind with shocking speed. Only the skills of Yara and her brother saved them. She had ordered the fleet to split into two directions and form a battle line to deal with the incoming enemy and had saved the majority of the fleet minus the ships bringing up the rear.

Tyrion could still hear the screams of the horses on the ships that were lost as they went down. This battle would bring him nightmares for years to come providing he survived.

Now he stood next to Missandei and Grey Worm on the flagship designed specifically for Daenerys. This war ship towered above the others in their navy and was designed as the backbone of the fleet. It was from here that Yara led the battle underway. Missandei and Grey Worm could only stand by as helpless as he was.

Grey Worm was about to explode with all his restless energy as he was doomed to be merely a spectator for now in the battle raging on. The Unsullied and the Dothraki were next to worthless as sailors and only added value when enemy ships came to engage in close quarters combat. So far, this had been few and far between.

Daenerys had taken flight on Drogon as soon as the battle had broken out and every so often, Tyrion could see her dive bomb a helpless ship of the Iron Fleet before darting back into safety of the clouds and smoke hanging overhead. She was the only thing at this point keeping them from being routed.

Yara’s men, as well trained as they were, were outnumbered and it was showing. Euron’s fleet was pressing hard into the middle of their line and enemy ships was approaching Daenerys’ flagship.

Tyrion gasped as a flaming ball thrown from an enemy ship flew through the air and land with an explosion on a vessel to the left. A gaping hole was left in the side and the ship began rapidly taking on water.

“Two ships, dead ahead and closing fast,” Tyrion heard a lookout on the bow of the ship yell at Yara and she nodded grimly.

She ran towards Tyrion and Grey Worm, “Get your men ready. They mean to board.”

Grey Worm looked happy at this prospect and Tyrion thought he almost saw a smile break through on the young warriors face before he turned around and headed to the lower quarters to inform the rest of the Unsullied.

“I would suggest you and the lady retire to the command deck in the rear for the fight to come,” Yara shouted at Tyrion and Missandei.

_You don’t have to tell me twice._

Tyrion and Missandei made for the rear of the ship. Once there, Tyrion had the best view of the battle their navy had to offer, minus of course the one Daenerys had. Their middle was being pushed back into itself but the line held. The flanks seemed to be doing better for themselves seemingly holding their own against the enemy onslaught.

Suddenly the enemy vessels were upon them. Yara directed several volleys into the enemy ships and small fires broke out on each ship with men running to put them out. More often than not, these men met their ends from the following volleys. The majority of Euron’s men were crouched behind their shields on the side of the ships with boards and grapples ready. The Unsullied were formed up on the deck ready for a fight.

A loud crunch shook the flagship followed by another almost knocking Tyrion over before he steadied himself. He watched as Ironborn poured over the side of their ships and onto his, many cut down by the Unsullied before they could gather their footing.

The fighting was fierce. The Unsullied used their spears at first to keep the Ironborn from getting a foothold on the ship. There were too many Ironborn however and they swarmed over both sides some loosing arrows into the ranks of the Unsullied, others closing in for combat. The Unsullied dropped their spears at a command from Grey Worm and unsheathed their short swords.

The Ironborn were no match for the clinical and deadly Unsullied. Wave upon wave hit the Unsullied lines only to be repulsed brutally, slowly but surely leaving piles of dead upon the decks. Tyrion could see that the same battles had broken out on many of their others ships along the front line with the Ironborn desperate to overwhelm them with sheer numbers alone. Many of the ships were on fire and sinking and still men fought on, only stopping once the waves swallowed their ships whole.

In several instances, the Unsullied or Dothraki had actually boarded the enemy ships and now were taking possession of them. The battle seemed to be a stalemate. The enemy seemed unable to bring their full force to bear without spreading their communication lines too thin and the tightly packed armada of Daenerys was able to keep them at bay.

All of a sudden Daenerys burst through from the heavens on Drogon and delivered molten death to the attacking Ironborn vessels. The immediate threat seemed to have past as the last few remaining Ironborn on the ship were either killed or forced overboard. Grey Worm was bathed in blood from head to toe which was beginning to take on a grayish hue due to the ash and soot that was sticking to him.

_Well, at least his name finally suits him._

Daenerys hovered overhead exchanging some silent communication with Yara who responded with a nod. Drogon leapt forward to join the fray once more and Yara sprang into action running towards him. She ran past him towards the communicator, “Give the signal. Now. Do it.”

The man reached for a pair of brightly colored flags and began waving them in what appeared to be random directions to Tyrion. The vessels around him that received the signal began spreading it down the line and the middle of Yara's fleet began to withdraw.

Daenerys and her dragons covered the retreat flying low to rain death on any who gave to close pursuit. The Ironborn noticed the withdraw however and sensing victory committed the entirety of their middle towards breaking Yara’s lines.

Tyrion looked down their own battle lines recognition forming in his head and a smile on his face.

_Just a little more. All we need is a little more…_

As the Ironborn pressed in on them, in their haste they neglected their flanks. Two soon did their realize that the withdraw was tactical and too orderly. Yara’s fleet began to fold in on itself in a pincher movement overwhelming the sides of the Ironborn’s battle lines and crushing them.

The Ironbron were caught in a vice with the three dragons bringing fire from above and Yara’s fleet crushing them slowly from the sides.

Tyrion took a breath in what seemed like the first time since the battle had started. Finally it appeared they were on their way to victory.

_Maybe I’ll get to enjoy those nightmares after all._

Daenerys

Daenerys sat high atop Drogon with Viserion and Rhaegal flanked to her left and right. Their view from on high was obscured by the smog that had set over the pitched battle. She knew, even though she could not see all from this level, that Yara had encircled the Ironborn and begun the process of delivering the killing blow. She gave the command and Drogon tucked his wings in and began to dive.

The air flew by her like hands grabbing at her clothes and body. She clung tightly to Drogon as he reached sea level and began to level out.  As she drew closer she observed that although the Ironborn were surrounded, there was no sign of surrender. They continued to attack Yara’s fleet relentlessly continuing to spew forth thick swarms of arrows like wasps and the occasional volley of flaming stone from the larger vessels.

It was one such vessel she ordered Drogon to approach and as they drew closer she commanded, “Dracarys.”

Drogon opened his mouth and from his gaping maw, dragonfire spewed engulfing the helpless ship in the burning sticky substance. As they flew overhead, the Ironborn turned their immediate attention towards her and the three dragons firing arrows upwards that mostly fell short. A few arrows found their mark but were unable to draw blood in part due to the thick armor the dragons had developed and also due to the height.

Daenerys winced as Viserion roared in pain. Several of the arrows had found a home in his right wing which now dripped with blood. Worse still, several of the Ironborn ships with giant ballista had begun hurling massive spears upward in attempts to bring the dragons down. Several flew by her with a hiss that were too close for comfort.

 _Time to regroup,_ she thought.

The dragons flew up and away until they were covered by the fog and smoke once again. They continued this pattern for what seemed like hours again and again flying low only to be chased off once they Ironborn turned their attention skyward.

It was during one such run that Daenerys happened to look to the south just as she gained her sight and noticed a shimmer on the horizon.

_Is it the sun? Or am I growing tired from the battle and I am seeing things?_

She immediately broke off from the battle and made her way to the horizon. As she grew nearer, she was filled with dread. A second fleet was fast approaching and from what she could make out, it appeared to be of a same number as the first wave of Ironborn.

_They must have been trailing, using the first half as bait and waiting for us to strike. Now that we are committed we are in no shape to prepare for this defensively._

Daenerys screamed in anger as she wheeled Drogon back to the battle at hand.

 _The size of my army is for naught,_ Daenerys vented. _My Dothraki cannot ride these waves and sit useless. To come this way to be undone like this, it will not happen._

They raced ahead and Daenerys surveyed the battle. The Ironborn ringed in on all sides by Yara’s fleet were beginning to be overwhelmed. The Unsullied and Dothraki were finally able to come to close quarters and begin combat. The Ironborn were boarded and many ships captured.

She spotted her flagship with Yara leading the battle and she ordered Drogon to descend.

As she drew close to her ship, she was able to dismount with Yara and a bloodied Grey Worm quick to rush to her side.

“We have them,” Yara crowed. “They have overplayed their hand and now they will pay.

“I fear it is not so. Even now as we speak a second force heads this way with the intent of catching us off guard. It was only good fortune that allowed me to spot them from the air when I did or they might have caught us completely unawares. What are our options?”

Yara cursed, “Tactically wise, half of our remaining ships are damaged badly enough that they will need major repairs. We cannot hope to withdraw with these ships at a pace that will allow us to escape.”

“Neither can we abandon half of our men leaving them to die,” Daenerys retorted. “What other options do we have?”

“Can your dragons hold them at bay long enough to cover our retreat. Even now we are mopping up the last of the Ironborn within our net.”

Daenerys shook her head, “We would have little cover if we engage them now and three dragons are not enough to stem the tide even if they had no ballista among these new ships which I am sure they do. I cannot risk it.”

She then noticed that Theon had made his way behind Yara. The poor boy had looked fragile ever since she had met him but now he stood as though made of stone.

“I think I know what to do,” he uttered softly.

“Speak up,” Daenerys spoke. “What do you propose?”

“Give me command of the ships that have been crippled. Transfer whatever men and horse you can onto the new ships that we have captured that are fit for service. I will take what we can spare and hold them off.”

Yara starred at Theon in disbelief and began to object but Daenerys cut her off, “You understand what this means. Don’t you.”

Theon just nodded resolutely, “I have done a lot of evil in my life. If this can be my atonement then so be it.”

Tyrion, who had apparently also approached said, “Well look at the balls on this one. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

Theon look down uncomfortable but still showed no signs of relenting.

“So it shall be. Yara, give the order to begin the transfer of men and livestock. Grey Worm, ask for volunteers to stay behind and hold the rear. I will command no one to do so against their will.”

“Grey Worm tapped his chest, “You would never have to my Queen. To stay behind is an honor all Unsullied would desire.”

“Still, ask them anyways.”

Grey Worm nodded and tapped his chest leaving to decide who would receive such ‘honor.’

Daenerys did the same with the Dothraki who, same as the Unsullied, begged for the honor of staying behind to fight for her.

_Am I worthy of this love? This devotion? I swear I will be from this day forward. This day shall not have been in vain._

She noticed Yara and Theon sharing a farewell, foreheads pressed together. Neither shed a tear. Theon glanced at her as he boarded a ship with its sails halfway torn. He paused for a second and she thought he was about to speak before deciding against it. He continued on and gradually his and many more of their fleet broke apart, a crippled part of the whole.

 _As many as half our fleet crippled or lost and as many men,_ Daenerys thought as she called again for Drogon.

“Yara. Head straight for King’s Landing. My dragons and I will catch up with you as quick as we can.”

With that, Drogon launched himself into the air once more. A great circle of wreckage stained the ocean with a red hue where the battle had been fought. Heading north was the remainder of the fleet and forming in a small battered line to the south was Theon and his brave souls.

_You have asked these men to die for you. The least you can do is see this through till the end._

Her dragons roared in defiance as the second fleet of Ironborn descended upon her rearguard and she dove into battle.

\---Theon---

 

He cut left. Stabbed right. Blood spraying from the tip of his sword towards the deck like an artist painting on some twisted canvas. His crippled fleet had remained still while the Ironborn headed forward on a collision course. There were no tactics this time, no trickery. Just brute force. Half of his ships were sunk by the time the enemy were close enough to board.

The Dothraki and Unsullied fought as men possessed with their Goddess hovering above them ever present raining fire down like a blessing. They fought through wounds that would kill mortal men and Theon wondered if the Dragon Queen was keeping them alive by her will alone.

But in the end it was all for naught. She was driven off out of range of the deadly ballista the Ironmen had taken to using. His was one of the last ships still floating, a great hunk of a barge that was more transport ship than warship. She was burning in a dozen places and was taking on water on her stern.

Still he fought, killing his brethren who were intent on killing him in return. A sharp pain blossomed in his left calf and he looked down to notice an arrow protruding from it. He limped backwards as several enemies closed in on him.

In the distance he saw a flash and a ball of light grew larger as it crept closer. He continued backwards stumbling on his back as a shockwave hit the deck instantly killing the Ironborn and sending him skidding backwards. He tried to rise to his feet but he could not. A large wooden beam had fallen across his legs preventing him from rising.

The ship slowly began to sink as she began to take on water. Body parts littered what remained of the deck from the explosion and Theon rested.

His work was done. He hoped that he had bought the Dragon Queen enough time and that her following reign would bring peace to Westeros, if that was even possible. This was his only chance at atonement. His chance to right his many wrongs.

The waves slowly poured over the side of the ship and began to cover him. He was at peace. In a way, this was what he had been waiting for his entire life. He closed his eyes and waited for what was to come.

_What is dead may never die…_

\---Daenerys---

The majority of her fleet had managed to escape. After buying as much time as they could with their last stand, she and her dragons had made for the main fleet and finally caught up with them. The rest of the voyage was spent in a state of tense desire. Desire to land and finally be home and to escape Euron and his Iron Fleet that had been pursing them relentlessly. Several more ships had to be abandoned in the journey but they continued on.

Her men were nervous and restless. Daenerys too had grown sick and tire of the endless up down, up down, up down of the ocean. It was enough to drive any sane person crazy. Their supplies were running low but they were close enough to their destination that it was not of immediate concern. Once they landed and began the siege of King's Landing, that would become a different story.

They spent the days with Tyrion giving her history lessons of all of the great houses of Westeros and their current standing. He also told her about the many other minor lords who were always jealous and vying for power as well as informing her on the desires of the common people. Mostly they wanted to just make it through another season. He also continued to teach her on the may subtleties of the Westerosi culture that she was unfamiliar with but would need to know if she was to rule effectively. 

Finally one morning after the fog had lifted, a shape could be made out in the distance. Daenerys grew more excited as the day went along and they got closer. Tyrion identified the object as the Red Keep

“Home,” murmured Tyrion furtively.

Daenerys thought of all she had lost, all of her struggles, everything she had been through and her heart swelled with joy and emotion.

_Home._

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

\---Arya---

_A noise in the bushes ahead drew her attention suddenly and she snapped to it. She darted forward and her nose went instantly to the ground when she reached the foliage. She took a deep breath and inhaled a strong earthy odor tinged with that of fear. She was close to her prey and it knew it._

_With her nose to the ground she half walked, half ran through the under bush following the pattern left as her prey sought to lose her. Her prey was clever. It ran under brambles and through rotten logs making it hard for her to continuously track it, but track it she did. Even when it ran across a shallow pool of water she was able to circle around and pick up the faint scent from the other side._

_She could tell she was gaining ground. The tracks were but seconds old and the smell of desperation was growing stronger by the second. Finally she turned the corner and came upon her target small, trembling and panting for breath crouched low to the ground. A small skinny rabbit at its miserable end._

_She growled loudly as if to announce to the world that she was victorious, today she would not go hungry. The rabbit just stared back waiting for the inevitable end. She sauntered closer her paws barely making a sound as she moved, her eyes fixed intently on her prize._

_As she moved within a body length away, the rabbit summoned up the last remaining energy it possessed and darted to the left. It was all in vain. She pounced quicker than lightning snapping with her jaws in anticipation of where the rabbit would be._

_The rabbit continued its headlong sprint right into the path of its incoming hunter and was killed instantly with a satisfying crunch. She quickly tore into the still warm animal, blood dripping down her teeth and jaws. The knot in her belly slowly receded as she continued to eat. When she was finished she approached the small pool of water again and proceeded to drink deeply, finally content._

_She gave a great howl of triumph at the moon as if to challenge it and everything around. Her call was joined by many others in the distance and they joined voices howling deep into the night._

_\------_

Arya woke with a start, reaching for her mouth and finding nothing before realizing the dream she had been having had no effect on her, being just a dream. Her stomach rumbled angrily and she lay back down with a groan. Ever since the weather  had grown noticeably colder, hunting for her food as she had become fond of doing, had grown harder and harder. She had subsequently grown leaner than usually although this did little but show the toned muscles underneath that she was starting to develop.

Ever since she had brought the Frey’s world to a crashing halt, she had been a little unsure of her next move. For a while she was leaning towards heading north. Word had spread to the Riverlands that Winterfell had been reclaimed by her brother and sister, if that could be believed. She longed to travel north to see if these rumors proved true and see Jon again, even Sansa, but in the end something held her back.

_It wouldn’t be right. Going home while my father’s killer walks the land. I promise I will not return home until I have avenged you father._

Deciding on this gave Arya fresh resolve and she decided to instead pen a short note to send to Wintefell on the chance that her brother and sister were indeed living there, once again victorious. She had decided it was for the best not to reveal her true identity, as if the letter fell into the wrong hands, the world might find out that Arya Stark was not as dead as everyone believed.

Instead of heading north, Arya set her sights on traveling in a different direction, east. King’s Landing loomed large in her mind and memories of that place still haunted her.

_Cersei. Ilyn Payne. The Red Witch._

These names gave her a purpose. A dark purpose that Arya was not sure she could break free of even if she wanted to. Killing Walder Frey had given her such joy and she longed for that feeling again. Sometimes she looked back at that feeling and she was afraid of what she was becoming but the memories of what had befallen her family stoked her rage and she was once again sure of what she must do.

Arya made her way south following the Kingsroad spending more nights than not crouched around some campfire with different groups of people heading south. Everyone was moving south it seemed. Whole families had uprooted what looked like their entire lives and headed south to escape the impending winter. There were tradesmen and farmers, bakers and even some poorer knights traveling with their families.

She learned much from the campfire gossip. It was said that the Dragon Queen was sailing across the narrow sea hell bent on retaking what she had lost and avenging her family. Others said she was mad and came to burn all of Westeros with her fire breathing dragons and her sorcery. Whatever the people believed, one thing Arya was for sure, she was starting to like this Dragon Queen more and more.

There was talk of an unholy alliance between the eternal enemies the Dornish and the Tyrells.

 _The Lannisters sure have a way of bringing people together,_ Arya pondered one evening. _It is a wonder that all of Westeros has not risen against them yet._

The gossip along the way south grew stranger and more exaggerated as she went until it reached the point that she dared not believe a word that was spoken. Still, she enjoyed the company of the small folk and reveled in their generosity despite their meagre belongings. They shared everything they had with her no matter how little they possessed.

_While the great lords and ladies sit in their fine castles bickering over their stuck up children, these people do all of the working, sweating, living and dying in the land. Is it too much to ask that they could do all this under a better leader?_

Arya trained on her own every night as far away from where she made camp as possible. Still every so often wondering eyes would find her and watch as she went through her routines. She practiced the same every night. She would go through her training given to her by Forel when he was still her teacher.

She would go through the flowing moves he had taught her effortlessly with Needle easy to manipulate through the air like water flowing. The blade was perfect for that style of fighting as was her own body. She practiced her ‘dancing’, never remaining in the same spot so as to avoid being hit by clumsy heavy swinging foes.

After that, she went over her lessons from her time with the Faceless men. The waif, the bitch that she was, had taught Arya a great deal. She taught Arya to be relentless in a fight and to never fight fair. Any advantage you could take in combat should be taken. The loser would not be around to complain afterwards.

She practiced with a branch she broke from a low hanging tree and move through her staff routine. She practiced blindfolded and struck apples out of trees and rocks off the road where she could. Her time spent blindfolded had honed her other senses. When without her sight, the world seemed to slow and her sense of smell and hearing increased dramatically.

As Arya’s journey took her ever closer to the Crossroads Inn, she began to notice an increased military presence. The Lannisters had men out patrolling the roads looking for troublemakers and anyone who so much as gave them a dirty look was asking for trouble.

It was one such afternoon about a day’s ride from the Inn that forced Arya to intervene. A wagon belonging to a family that Arya had been traveling with for several days broke down in the middle of the Kingsroad. A small contingent of Lannister men led by a knight in worn and slightly cracked armor took offence to what they saw as a road block and stopped to admonish the family.

“Get your wagon off of the road. We are here on the Queen’s business and are not to be delayed,” the mounted knight sneered.

One of the footmen followed this up by going over to the wagon and beginning to sort through the families belongings.

“Please good sirs. We have little as it is. Yet still we are willing to share what we have stored. All we ask is that you do us no harm and help us on our way.”

The Knight looked at the man who had finished speaking, “As long as you let us partake in everything that is yours you might have yourselves a deal.”

The man had two daughters both barely in their teens and the man trembled at the implication. The daughters went white with fear and Arya finally stepped out from behind the shadow of the wagon where she had been hiding.

“Look Job,” one of the footmen shouted at the knight. “We got ourselves another.”

Arya promptly stalked over to the man while he was laughing with the rest of his fellow soldiers and whipped out Needle stabbing him once, twice, in the throat and in the heart. The men stunned at what they had just witnessed finally regained their senses realizing their comrade had just been murdered by a little girl. They began to draw their swords from their sheaths but Arya was already dancing away.

The knight advanced shouting at his horse urging it to run her down but Arya jumped into tight roll at the last second and barreled away as the horse trampled where she had been standing. She recovered and drew a dagger hiding in the inside of her cloak and whipped it towards the back of the knight who had yet to turn around and recover from his missed attempt. The knife sunk deep into the square of his back and he went rigid before slumping over and falling from his mount.

The rest of the footmen gave a shout and tried to surround her. Arya moved swiftly as a shadow and constantly danced in and out of their range. She was like water flowing one direction, then the next, there and then not. She moved Needle in tight and compact strokes. Jab, retreat, jab, retreat. One by one the men succumbed to stab wounds. A strike to a knee was followed quickly be a jab to the eye killing the man instantly. A feint to the right was followed by Arya shoving her blade into the armpit of another where the armor was nonexistent.

And so it went until only one man remained. He looked around and realized his situation was hopeless dropping to his knees in front of Arya. Their eye levels aligned finally and Arya saw desperation in his own.

“Who are you? Please. I was just following orders. I have a wife and family.”

Arya paused at that before whispering in his face, “Tell Joffrey, Arya Stark sends her regards.”

A quick strike through the mouth and out the back of the neck killed the man instantly and Arya stood still as once again the thrill of the moment washed over her. She stood there for a while before coming back to reality and noticed that the family was packing up their belongings having fixed their wagon and casting nervous glances in her direction when they thought she was not looking.

_I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t believe I could do something like this either if I had already not done it so many times._

She wiped her thin blade and set about removing anything of value from the dead men’s pockets. There was not much but she was able to procure enough so that she thought she would be able to spend several nights at Inns along the road the rest of the way. The horse formerly belonging to the knight she had killed was grazing not far from the road on a patch of grass no concerned in the least that he had just had his master killed on his back.

Arya gathered her few belongings, said farewell to the family who appeared both grateful yet utterly relieved that she was leaving and mounted her new ride. She spent the rest of the day ridding before finally arriving at the Crossroads Inn late in the night. She paid up for a nights fare before retiring to her room. After a while, she came back down into the dining area and ordered a small portion of food. A humble meat pie was placed before her and a small glass of mead. She tore into the food eating like a wolf quickly eating everything set before her.

Only after she was content did she stop to look around the room. There were one or two lone strangers sitting around the room barely paying her any mind. It was late and most of the guests had already retired to their rooms. A board posted by the entrance drew her attention. It appeared to be a message board with the comings and goings of the Kingdom posted on it. Mostly bounties and missing children posters along with the odd royal decree posted but it was one of the first that caught her eye.

A bounty of 100 silver stags was listed at the bottom of the sheet but it was not the amount of money posted that caused the shocked look to spread across her face. Rather staring back at her from the sheet was one of the ugliest yet most familiar faces Arya could recall. A mass of hideous scars covered one side of his face and his hair was burned away on that side. The artist who drew the poster was rather poor but even then there was no mistaking the likeness. The poster had a date listed of barely a week ago.

_Sandor Clegane. Wanted for killing the Queen’s Men and the desertion of the royal family. Bounty at 100 silver stags._

Arya was stunned. Last time they were face to face he had been dying of what should have been mortal wounds. She ripped the poster from the wall and stalked back to her room.

_Cersei. Ilyn Payne. The Red Witch. The Hound. Cersei. Ilyn Payne. The Red Witch. The Hound. The Hound. THE HOUND._

\---Jamie---

The days following his return to King’s Landing were the hardest he had ever faced. His boy, his last sweet child had felt so alone that he felt compelled to take his own life. Jaime could only watch in horror as he watched the love of his life slowly deeper and deeper into the pit she had dug after her coronation.

Cersei stayed a recluse, only allowing him to speak with her once in his return and that had ending in a screaming match  where he was promptly ‘asked’ to leave by her mountainous bodyguard. She spent her days locked in her room conspiring with Qyburn and ordering increasingly dangerous decrees.

First a curfew was enacted on the city. Any who were found guilty of breaking said curfew were handed over to Qyburn and never heard from again. She increased the military presence of the Lannister army in the streets of King’s Landing enforcing a brutal crackdown on any who dared speak out against her rule.

Jaime spent his days doing what he could for the city. He ordered Bronn to recruit those he could and together they began the slow process of cleaning up the remainder of what used to be the Sept. A giant whole had been created from the blast and the surrounding structures had been demolished. Working together, the people of the city had begun to fill the whole and return the city to some semblance of normalcy.

The grain and other foodstuffs that the Tyrells had been providing stopped flowing into the city and a shortage of food followed by sickness soon began to spread throughout the city. Jaime attempted to maneuverer supplies belonging to the Lannisters into the hands of some of the people of the city but when Cersei found out she prompted called for an end to that. With the City Watch firmly under her control and the one contingent of the Lannisters backing her there was little he could do to resist.

Weeks passed with Jaime, Bronn, and his loyal soldiers the only thing standing between the people and utter chaos in the streets. Word poured into the city of the return of the Targaryens. It was said a giant fleet with soldiers that number in the hundreds of thousands made for Westeros and King’s Landing and would soon be here to take the city. The people openly wished for this in the streets with many praying for deliverance by this would be conquering hero.

 _They think she will be their savior. With the state of the city the way it is, who could blame them for welcoming their conqueror with open arms?_ _This Targaryen will only be their doom._

Jaime was tired of being ignored for weeks on end and one day after a particularly strenuous bought of swordplay with Bronn, he decided that enough was enough.

_She acts as though she is the only one that has lost. The only one who is hurting._

Jaime still sweating from his practice made the long and arduous climb up to pay Cersei a visit locked away in her tower.

As he approached the door the first thing he noticed was her guard.

_That bloody science project that her and that mad man Qyburn cooked up. If she thinks I will be scared off that easily she is sorely mistaken. I know what really rest under all that metal._

Jaime came to a stop just out of striking distance of that great hulk of metal and stood there staring directly at it. It proceeded to stare right back nary moving a muscle or blinking. Flies buzzed around its head but it could not bother itself to be troubled.

He stood there for several minutes sizing his foe up, wondering how he should go about defeating this foe should the occasion arise before coming to the conclusion that was not a fight he would want to be a part of. Once upon a time yes, but losing his right hand had given him a new perspective in life.

“Cersei. I know you can hear me inside there. Order your man to step aside and let me pass.”

Seconds ticked back and no reply.

“Cersei. Let me in. CERSEI.”

Finally the door creaked open and she emerged from within. Her face was pale from lack of sun and her eyes glassy from indulging in too much wine.

“What do you want brother?” she questioned him. “What could possibly be important enough for you to bother me?”

“Us,” Jaime replied.

This seemed to shake her a bit from her apathetic state and finally she relented ordering her man to step aside and let him pass. He did so quickly before she could change her mind. Once inside her room his senses were wishing they had not entered. The room had a dull musty smell to it, too much perfume attempting to cover up the smell of unsavory scents. His eyes cringed at the fog of incense that hung in the air with a cloying presence. The curtains were drawn allowing only enough light through to tell it was daytime. Candle were lit everywhere provided the rest of the light in the room required to see.

Cersei shut the door behind her as she entered the room and Jaime immediately turned on his heels to face her, “Cersei this has got to come to an end. You cannot continue to live like this.”

“Live like what brother,” Cersei retorted. “I am the Queen. The Queen can live however she likes. No one ever told Robert how to live his life without suffering his wrath.”

“Yah and look where that got him.”

That shut her up if only just for a second. “What did you come here for brother? Just to mock me?”

“I came here because I love you and am worried for you,” Jaime said move closer to her trying to take her in his arms.

“Don’t,” she replied with her arms outstretched keeping him at arms distance. “Don’t be here because you feel sorry for me.”

She walked to one of the windows and opened the curtain just enough to peer out down upon the city. She winced as the sunlight hit her eyes and she used her hand to provide shade.

“That is not the reason why I am here. I am here because I am scared for you, scared of losing you.”

He moved once again to try and take her in his arms and this time she allowed it. Holding her in his arms made the world feel right again even if only for a moment.

“After Tommen’s…death. I feared you would be lost me forever.”

At this she pushed him away saying, “His death was unavoidable. As was Myrcella’s and Joffery’s. I was just too blind to see it at the time.”

She paused as if lost in some memory of long ago.

“Of course his death was avoidable. All of theirs were,” Jaime said in a pained voice. “I did my best to protect them. If you had not sent me from your side perhaps this madness at the Sept would not have happened…”

“Madness?!” she turned on him. “They left me with no choice. What else was I supposed to do? Engage in all out warfare in the streets with them? How would that have been any better?”

“I only meant that with me by your side we could have come up with a better plan. One that did not involve nearly blowing up half the city.”

“And what makes you think you could have come up with a better solution. Is it because you are a man?! Is that it? You and father never took me seriously. Well look at you now. You with one hand and father dead by our wretched brothers hand.”

Jaime tried to hold back the growing anger he felt, “The High Sparrow was your own doing and you know it. I don’t blame you for wanting him dead. Hell I wanted to straggle him with my own hand for what he did to you. But the way you handled it…”

Jaime was left thinking of darker years and a King he once served…

_I put my sword through the last man who threatened to blow up this city. And now I stand before one who has accomplished what he could only dream of._

Cersei starred at him knowingly. They had shared too much of themselves for her not to understand what was going through his mind.

“I ask not for your forgiveness. What is done is done. I ask only that you honor what you once told me. That the only thing that matters in this world is us. And you would do anything to anyone who tried to come between us.”

“Of course my love. I will always be there for you. Nothing can drive us apart,” Jaime said as he once more moved to embrace her.

But in the back of his mind, Jamie wondered if that would remain as true as his vows to a Mad King long dead.

\------

The next morning, Jaime woke to find a half-naked Cersei holding him tight. He gently pried her loose from his body and extracted himself from their bed. He got dressed careful not to wake her from her slumber and donned his golden hand and his sword. He walked towards the door pausing only to take a moment to stare back at her.

_She looks so peaceful, so innocent. Who dared deal her such a miserable hand in life?_

He opened the door careful as to not make a sound and was greeted back the back of the undead giant still at his post. He had not moved and inch and Jamie would bet not a muscle since the door had been closed on him the day before. Jaime skirted him carefully wary as to not touch him and looked back as he passed to see those baleful eyes following him as he left.

He made the quick jaunt back to his quarters before taking a bath to remove the previous day. He dressed ate and thought about getting some things together so that he could move in with Cersei.

_Why not? There is no one preventing us from doing so now._

He decided against it at the moment, wanting to spend a little more time with Cersei to gauge where she stood in the mornings light before committing. He wondered down to the ruin of the Sept and noted that the whole was almost filled in and much of the rubble of the surrounding area had been removed. It was then that he noticed an aggravated Bronn hurrying over towards him. Bronn stopped before him out of breath hands on his knees.

“What is it man? Speak up.”

Bronn waved him off before finally catching his breath, “Word just arrived from scouts at Tarth. It appears there was great battle at sea. The Targaryen whelp engaged Euron Greyjoy and the might of the Iron Fleet.”

“Well man. Don’t stop there,” Jaime gestured impatiently, “What was the outcome? Did the Ironborn prove victorious?”

“The Dragon Queen was bloodied aye. But it was said the bulk of her navy continues here unscathed. Apparently she divided her forces and held off Euron although she paid dearly for it. Both sides took heavy losses but at the moment neither could be declared victor. And one thing is for certain. Both The Dragon Queen and Euron continue this way as we sit around flapping our lips. For all we know, they could be days away having made as good time as our intel.”

Jaime cursed. _Daenerys and Euron both head this way and are spoiling for a fight. No matter the outcome of that battle, King’s Landing is in for a siege. Where is Tyrion when you need him…_

“Get the men ready and sound the alarm. I want the entire city on high alert until we know more. We take no chances.”

Bronn nodded in affirmation and set out to ready the city as best he could.

_And so it ends, here where it all began. The Targaryens return for retribution._

\---Cersei---

Cersei watched from atop her tower as the city bustled in to action as the bells tolled across the pavement.

_Daenerys finally returns to take her throne. She will find I am not easily cast aside. She may think she is the rightful Queen but she is sorely mistaken. The only ‘right’ on this earth is what you take by force. Let us see how ready for a fight after she has dealt with Euron._

Cersei, had made a secret alliance with Euron and his Iron Fleet. Qyburn had arranged it away from the prying eyes in the capitol. Cersei wanted Daenerys gone, and Euron wanted the Iron Islands to be a free kingdom again. Qyburn had proven to be more valuable than she ever could have dreamed when she first met him. She would have to be sure and reward him with more ‘supplies’ for his experimentation. She didn’t care to know what schemes he continued to cook up as long as they benefited her.

_The enemy of my enemy…I detest making nice with these scum. First the Freys and now the Greyjoys. They are all the same upstart filth who dared to fly to high._

Euron had the audacity to even propose marriage to her which she refused without even considering it.

_No one but Jaime would ever occupy a position at her side again and maybe not even him. Still, let him bash his might against that of the dragon bitch and I will take care of the victor. The Freys were easy enough to deal with afterwards. I didn’t even have to move a hand to eliminate them, it was done for me. I wonder who dared do the deed?_

She thought over this subject as she drank a glass of red wine waiting for her guest to arrive. Finally after waiting for some time, the door opened and Qyburn was escorted through the door.

“Your Grace,” he bowed low.

“Qyburn,” she replied, “Have the preparations been made?”

“They are nearly completed your grace we are but days away from the final product.”

“Good. Accelerate your timeline. I want to be ready when the time comes.”

“Of course your grace.”

Qyburn bowed his head before turning and leaving. She watched him go and as he left she noticed a look of what could only be described as affection cross her bodyguards face.

_If such a thing could be felt by one with his…condition. After what he did to Septa Unella…_

A smile crossed her face at that.

_Yes, revenge is indeed sweet._

Cersei ordered some food to be brought before her and a serving girl hustled away to fetch her a platter. She moved back over to the windows once more and one by one began throwing them open all the way. Her view of the bay was unobstructed and from here she could oversee the entire city.

“Let the dragon bitch come,” she said out into the empty space above the city. “I’ll give her what she has always wanted. Fire and Blood.”


	4. Chapter 4

\---Jon---

Jon woke from a deep, and for once, dreamless sleep. His return to consciousness brought the return of pain, not only physical but emotional as well. His wounds, while fully healed, still pained him on occasion sending sharp jabs through his core. His head was fuzzy from the drink he had consumed the previous night and he knew he would pay for that in the day to come.

He slowly cleared his mind and tried to focus on the night before but that brought him little comfort. His conversation with Sansa came flooding back to him like an unwanted tidal wave.

_You are a fool Jon. The only family you have left and you are doing your best to push her away instead of drawing her close like you should._

He grimaced as he sat up and his feet landed on the cold, hard floor. The small fire burning from the past evening had long since gone out leaving his room at a near frigid temperature. Still he refused to kindle a new one as he quickly got dressed for the day.

_I don’t plan on spending much time indoors today anyways. Might as well get used to the cold early._

After dressing he headed to the dining hall. He nodded hello to several servants who were roaming the halls early in the morning preparing for the day as he went and they bowed low before continuing on their way. He reached the dining hall which was scarcely populated at this early hour. He head to the head table where he had been sitting as of late and food was quickly brought for him. He ate in silence pondering what the day held in store as people slowly began to trickle into the hall.

Several people greeted him as they walked in and Jon returned the courtesy. Finally the one person he wanted to see arrived. She looked regal as ever walking through the doorway red hair flowing behind her like the rising sun. She looked tired though, as if she had been up the majority of the night.

_You caused this. Look what you have done._

Despite their argument the night before, she walked towards him as if to sit by him. He stood and pulled out the chair to the right of where he was sitting offering it too her in a gesture of contrition. She looked him in the eyes for a second as if she was deciding before accepting the seat and sitting beside him.

Food was brought for Sansa and they sat in uncomfortable silence for a while as Jon finished his breakfast.

“I want you to know I am sorry for upsetting you last night that was not my intention,” Jon leaned over and whispered to her just low enough so the rest of the room could not hear.

Sansa paused from eating, and gave him a short level look before going back to finishing her task at hand.

“I also want to know that I have decided to consider your offer. Even though I do not like the idea one bit I cannot deny that it holds merit and my decisions have gone poorly of late when I do not heed your judgement.”

This seemed to surprise her. Jon could tell she had not been expecting him to even consider changing his mind.

“I know I have much to learn Sansa. In the art of ruling and politics most of all. Fighting alone won’t save the North. I want to learn from you as much as I can, if you are willing. I pray I will not be as stubborn in learning to rule as I was in learning to fight from father.”

“That is all I ever wanted Jon. I can help you, help our people survive and that is all I want.”

She added in a lower tone that Jon could barely hear, “I want you to trust me.”

“I do trust you Sansa. But I also love you and am loath to risk your life. Give me a day to make my decision. This plan of yours is a lot to process overnight and the day ahead is full.”

Jon rose to leave and set about the day but before he could depart Sansa rose as well and grabbed both his hands.

“Thank you Jon. Thank you for putting your faith in me,” she said fervently.

Jon nodded blushing slightly from her outward display of affection, “Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t decided.”

Her eyes twinkled as he looked into them, like she was in on some secret that he was not.

Jon smiled and gripped her hands tightly before letting go to tend to the day.

 

\------

Jon spent the rest of the morning helping prepare the party that was headed to the wall. Provisions were gathered for the journey and weapons and armor were looked to. The force headed north to the Wall was to contain the majority of their horses so to ensure quick travel. A few horses were to remain behind for the Jon and the rest of his men to continue scouting the North looking for survivors.

Several lords of the great houses of the North had decided to make the trip to the Wall to assess the situation for themselves. The other lords appointed someone from their family as representatives for their house to make the trip as well. A portion of their strength was to make the journey as well. Jon was unsure of the situation at the Wall but if it was for the worse, he wanted his men to be ready.

Jon placed Tormund in command of leading this expedition safely to the Wall with Davos as his second, and although some of the northerners were uncomfortable with this arrangement, none dared openly go against his command.

Lord Baelish stood by away from the bustle in the courtyard throughout the morning with a contingent of his Knights of the Vale with a smirk plastered across his face.

_He wouldn’t look so smug if he knew what was out there, what is coming._

Finally by midday, everything was in order, and strict instructions had been given to Tormund and the other leaders.

Jon walked over to Tormund who was getting ready to mount his horse for the journey. “Remember what I told you,” Jon said as he moved to lock forearms with the Wildling. “We can’t lose you.”

“Aye I know. You would be lost without me Lord Snow,” Tormund replied. “Try not to grow too soft down here in the south in your fancy castle.”

Jon laughed at that and moved to address the other lords as Tormund mounted his horse and began giving final orders. He had words for each before standing back and letting them all mount up. Finally, his words of wisdom were complete and the party began to leave the castle. They were to meet up with the rest of the mounted contingent that had been camping outside the castle before heading north to the Wall.

Sansa approached as riders galloped out through the gate. “Will this make them believe?”

Jon turned towards her as she drew near, “Let us hope it does. And let us hope they survive to tell the tale.”

Sansa nodded grimly before glancing at Lord Baelish watching them intently from his corner of the courtyard. “Have you told him yet? Of the message we received?”

“Not yet. Although somehow I get the feeling he already knows.”

Sansa nodded at that.

“I mean to pay a visit to the crypt this afternoon. Will you join me?” Jon asked her.

“I will,” she replied. “When would you like to go?”

“Now that our work is done here for the day, I am ready to go.”

Jon offered her his arm and the two head towards the crypt. It was located in the oldest section of Winterfell near the First Keep. A large old ironwood door that was very heavy, guarded the entrance and required all of Jon’s strength to push open by himself. Sansa waited patiently as Jon took two of the torches that were placed right inside the doorway and lit both of them.

Finally, once the torches were lit, they were ready. They headed down the stairway of narrow and winding steps which lead to the multiple levels of the crypt. As they descended, it grew warmer gradually although the inky darkness increased as well. Finally they arrived in the massive vault where their recent family was buried. They first arrived at Rickon’s new tomb. The dust had yet to gather like it had on the other tombs although the finality of his resting place impressed itself upon Jon.

He knelt before the tomb shedding several tears in silence before moving on. Sansa stood behind him silently with a stone faced expression. Jon stopped at his grandfather’s tomb before stopping at his uncles and then finally his aunts resting place.

Even though the likeness of her down in the crypts was a poor imitation, Jon could tell that she must have been a great beauty.

_Yet as free as any Wildling. Nothing could stop her when she set her mind to something. No one could ever tell her what to do. Yet look where that got her…_

Jon sighed heavily. He knew keeping Sansa locked up in Winterfell would benefit no one. But if he let her run free like his Aunt had…well… being alive trapped in Winterfell might be better than dead in the south. In the end though, Jon knew he could not always protect her. ‘Trust me’ she had said. If the Starks were to survive, he would have to take chances that he knew he wouldn’t like.

_People always said that it was Arya who was most like Lyanna. Yet looking at Sansa now and knowing everything she has done, I find the same thing to be true for her as well._

Finally Jon had had enough of the gloomy burial chamber. Sansa had stood behind him the whole time patiently waiting, lost in her own thoughts. He signaled that he was ready to go and together they made the climb up the long winding staircase.

“What do you think of our aunt?” Sansa asked him as they neared the top.  

“By all accounts she was an extraordinary woman. Just like the rest of the Stark women.”

This drew a smile from Sansa and she continued, “And what do you believe about the stories of her engagement to Robert. It was known that she was not exactly pleased with her betrothal to him. He was well known for his appetites even at his young age.”

“I can’t speak with much authority on the matter. We will never know what might have been had Rhaegar not kidnapped her…”

“Yes, what might have been…” Sansa said before trailing off in to silence. They reached the doorway at the top of the stairs and extinguished their torches and placed them back on the wall. Jon shut the door behind them with a resounding thud and they headed back. The day was drawing to a close, the sun beginning its descent in the west behind the thick heavy clouds.

“I will make my decision tonight,” Jon told her. “Let me go find Lord Baelish and inform him of my intention to have a meeting regarding the trip to the south. Go, get something to eat and drink and meet me in the solar later.”

\------  


The three of them were gathered around the large table in the center of the room. Lord Baelish had just arrived and only ten minutes before, so had Sansa. Jon had been going over the logistics of running Winterfell before their arrival but now that they were both here, they were ready to begin.

Jon saw no point in dancing around the issue and so decided to get straight to the point.

“Lord Baelish. I know we discussed you heading south to clear the way for our eventual flight should we need it. I am grateful that you stepped forward willing to lead this undertaking.”

Lord Baelish bowed his head slightly at that.

“But since last night I have reconsidered. I will send Sansa south instead with a heavily armed escort of course. She is not only a Stark, but Tully blood courses through her veins as well. Her ties to the Riverlands could prove vital and this is something you don’t have no matter how skilled of a negotiator you are.”

Lord Baelish appeared flustered at this.

_Finally something that causes this man to lose his cool._

“This news is most disturbing. I have full confidence in Sansa’s abilities but the Riverlands are still controlled by the Lannisters. Sending your sister south would only place her in unnecessary danger.”

“More danger than sending me to Winterfell to live with the Boltons?” Sansa retorted. “I have been in more than enough dangerous situations, and most of them were not of my will. I will make the most of this one knowing it is of my own volition.”

This silenced Lord Baelish although he still seemed perturbed.

Finally he addressed Jon again, “If I am not to go south, what service do you require of me?”

“With Sansa gone, and many of the other lords of the North riding for the Wall, I need all the help I can get here in at Winterfell. I would have you advise me in all matters political.”

This elicited another expression from Lord Baelish that Jon could not remember him ever expressing, surprise.

“I know we are not on the best of terms, and we will never be friends, Jon continued glancing between Lord Baelish and Sansa, “But right now I do not have any other options and I need your help.”

Lord Baelish looked like he was on the verge of rejecting the offer before finally settling on an answer, “If this is what you wish of me, then this is what you shall get. I accept. I hope you know what you are doing Lord Snow.”

_So do I._

Planning took place for another hour. They decided on what Lord Baelish’s duties would be and planned for Sansa’s trip south. It was decided that her journey would not begin for a week. The mounts to carry Sansa and her guard south were currently being used to scout the rest of the north. The rest of the horses had already headed north to the Wall. Finally Lord Baelish excused himself from the table and left Sansa and Jon to continue planning.

“I will spend the rest of the week riding out with my men. I need to be out doing something not stuck inside all day twiddling my thumbs.”

Sansa laughed at that, “That is what ruling is my King. Getting fat and ordering people around.”

“It’s enough to drive anyone mad. On a more serious note, we must decide on the force to send south with you. I would think you would want to take Brienne with you on the trip and by extension Pod. That woman seems most determined to serve you and Pod determined to serve the lady.”

“It would do a great deal towards putting myself at ease if I knew the Lady Knight rode by my side,” Sansa agreed.

“I would give you almost the entirety of the force left here at Winterfell as well. If all goes well, the party headed for the Wall should return soon and Winterfell will be at full strength again.”

“And if all doesn’t go well?”

“Well then, no amount of men the North can muster at this point would be able to stop what is coming.”

At this they sat in silence for a while.

“Jon,” Sansa began timidly, “I know it goes without saying that you have to be careful around Littlefinger. You know he does not have your best interest at heart.”

“Aye I know,” Jon agreed, “But here at Winterfell he is least likely to get up to any mischief. Not with all these northerners around.”

“Still…”

“Sansa, going south was your idea, and a good one at that. There is no use worrying now, what’s done is done. Now we need to decide your best course of action.”

“Ok then. Just be careful Jon,” she replied. “The way I see it, my best path south is one that takes us to Riverrun through the Riverlands. I know it is still under the Lannister’s sway but the people of the Riverlands hold little love for the Lannisters. And from what Brienne has told me, they dislike my Uncle Edmure just as much.”

“If you can rally their support we could head far south unopposed,” Jon said planning ahead.

“Depending on the status of The Twins of course,” Sansa reminded him. “We still don’t know the full situation there and the Freys could still prove to be a problem.”

_A problem I would love nothing more than to wipe off this earth._

“Yes they are indeed the largest unknown here. You will have to tread carefully there, but I trust your judgement on the matter. Once you arrive at the The Twins, assess the situation and deal with it as you see fit.”

_I know how I would deal with them…_

“And this time no more offers of marriage.”

Sansa took hold of his statement, “Speaking of marriage, now that you are King of the North, you have become the most eligible bachelor in the North maybe even all of Westeros. And we are in desperate need of allies…

Jon shook his head, “We don’t have time for marriage planning. And anyways, the rest of Westeros would look at me and see nothing but a bastard. It doesn’t matter how many northerners call me King and praise my name.”

“You would be surprise how fast people change their opinions when royalty is involved,” Sansa offered. “The Lords of the south are plenty enough ambitious to be willing to wed their daughters to a King. Even a bastard from the North. And their daughters would be more than happy to marry a man as handsome as you.”

This took Jon by surprise.

“You think I am handsome?” he smirked.

Sansa blushed at that before continuing, “You don’t look half bad when you aren’t covered in mud or making a fool out of yourself trying to understand the complexities of ruling.”

This sobered Jon up quickly, but Sansa’s smiling face gave away her jesting nature.

“Truth be told Jon, you have all the qualities that would make a great husband. These same qualities are what make you a great leader. You believe the best of everyone, and are genuinely concerned about all of your people. Not just what they can do for you, but what you can do for them. Any woman would be more than lucky to have you.”

Jon sat back at that, a frown on his face.

_Not every woman. There was one with sunkissed hair that would have been better off if she had never known me._

Sansa noticed the change in his demeanor, “Jon what is it? Did I say something wrong?”

Jon paused before answering her, “There is part of my time at the Wall that I have not told you about. I met a girl, a Wildling girl when I was north of the Wall. It was all part of my mission at first, get close to her for the good of the Nights Watch. But as we got closer and closer well…”

At this he trailed off.

Sansa laughed, “Jon Snow, who would have thought. You Stark men hold your honor so close to heart I would never have thought.”

“Are you mocking me now,” he cried feigning hurt. “And besides I am no Stark.”

“You are to me,” she replied. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. So what happened to this Wildling girl of yours?”

Jon hesitated before replying, “She died in my arms at Castle Black.”

“I’m sorry Jon,” Sansa said covering his hand on the table with hers.

“Did you love her?” she asked reticently.

“Aye. I did. Strange,” he pondered. “To have her there one second and gone the next.”

“At least you had her if only for a short period of time. Of that I am jealous.”

“You, jealous of me?” Jon asked.

“It’s funny isn’t it? I grew up the eldest daughter of the Warden of the North and you grew up the bastard son of the same man and endured my mother’s disdain and my indifference. I was so consumed with my dreams of marrying a handsome prince and ignored the honorable man growing up right beside me. I treated you as an outsider and never even considered you a brother. I dreamed of being royalty and all you wanted was to belong.”

Jon shifted in his seat uncomfortably while Sansa continued, “And now you sit King of the North and I some twice married, most likely twice widowed woman and you show me nothing but kindness and love. Can you ever forgive me from all those years I spent ignoring you and casting snide remarks in your direction?”

The sight of tears rolling down Sansa’s cheeks brought distress to Jon, “Sansa there is nothing to forgive. That was a long time ago, another life ago and you have since proven your true heart.”

He wiped along the tears making tracks down her fair cheeks and kissed her forehead gently. He pulled her in closely to him letting her rest her head on his chest. Her flowing red hair filled his vision and he rested his cheek on the top of her head. Her hair smelt of the blue winter rose that grew nearby.

His heart skipped a beat as he thought of the other times he had held someone with long red hair this close and he had to bring himself to push away those memories.

_I will not end up holding the lifeless body of another woman I love._

Sansa’s steady breathing and heartbeat slowed as they stayed like this as the minutes dragged on. Jon did not have the heart to shift her weight off him as she fell asleep.

_She seems so peaceful asleep here in my arms. Would that we could stay this way forever and not have to face the world in the morning._

Jon nudged her forward slightly before bending down and picking her up in her arms. Her eyes fluttered open for a second before realizing what was occurring and fell back asleep snuggling deeper into Jon’s hold. He carried her to her chambers and placed her gently in her bed pulling back the covers as he did. He made sure that the heavy blankets on the bed were pulled up under her chin before heading to the fireplace to stoke the coals that had long since begun to die out. He placed several more large chunks of wood on the fire and waited for them to light.

Sansa began to mutter in her sleep and toss and turn. She sat up suddenly crying out, “Get off! Get off! Get Off!”

She was sitting upright rocking back and forth rubbing her arms up and down as if trying to remove something unseen clinging to her.

Jon went to her side comforting her, “Shhhh Sansa Shhhh its ok. I’m here. You are safe. It was just a dream.”

She looked at him a wild look in her eyes before finally calming down, “I’m sorry Jon. I get these nightmares that seem real and I haven’t been able to shake them. Even now after all this time and still he haunts me night and day.”

_One death was too good for that monster. If only he had a thousand lives for me to take._

“Stay with me Jon. Please,” She pleaded. “Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

Jon nodded and without hesitating answered, “Of course.”

He removed his shoes and belt and climbed into bed on the other side opposite her. Sansa burrowed her way back under the pile of blankets on her bed as if they would keep her safe from the horrors she had faced. Jon turned to face her as she moved in the bed closer to his side.

Jon waited until she was sound asleep again before slowly lowering his guard. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was her red hair cascading across the pillow next to him glowing in the light of the fire.

\---Sansa---

She slept better than she had in a long time, possibly better than since she had traveled south in the first place with her father off to marry a Prince and live out the rest of her fairy tale.

_And now here I lie, in a bed with a different kind of royalty but royalty none the less._

Her sleep had been deep and dreamless and for the first time in a while, she felt refreshed in the morning instead of as if she had spent the whole night fighting demons. She studied the lines of Jon’s face as he slept, his long dark hair framing his face.

_He looks as if he has not a care in the world. He looks a different man than his usually broody self._

She smiled to herself at that. Becoming a king had done little to change him. He remained his usual self, maybe a little more guarded than before but she did not blame him for that.

_Broody yes, but no one can argue that he a fitting ruler. He has done right by the entire North since his ascension. And there are those rare moments when he smiles…If you are not careful you can get lost in that smile…_

She only then became aware of her close proximity to Jon. It seemed at some point during the night they had moved closer together and were now in each other’s embrace, her face close enough she could reach up and brush her lips on his if she had wanted to.

_Do I want to? I do._

The thought startled her. She had never considered Jon as part of her family before when they were growing up but she knew she was the only sibling in her family that felt this way. He was still her half-brother no matter how much she had ignored that connection growing up.

_And yet now I feel the urge to be close to him. Just to touch him and never let go._

She refrained from moving any closer to him and instead remained where she was continuing to study him.

_He will make a great husband one day, and some lady will be fortunate enough to have what I never can._

Finally while Sansa continued to plan for the future, Jon woke from his sleep as well. He was disoriented at first before he blinked the sleep from his eyes and took in surroundings.

Sansa stared back at him as he became aware of their embrace.

_His eyes hold no hidden meaning, no subtle threat that I have to guess at. They are honest eyes, Stark eyes just like Father’s._

“Good morning Sansa,” he finally whispered in a hoarse voice. “Were you able to sleep well?”

“I did my King. Your presence was enough to chase away all troubled thoughts.”

Jon seemed embarrassed by this and began to apologize for moving so close to her during the night.

She waved him off rising from the bed next to him, “Truth be told, it was most likely myself who moved to your side during the night. I have yet to acquire your love of the cold, and desire heat at night once the fire burns low. In that regard I have taken after my mother.”

“I will leave you alone now to prepare for the day,” Jon rose from the bed and made for the door. “I am glad I could bring you some small measure of comfort. And don’t expect the cold to let up anytime soon for as you know-”

“Yes I know,” Sansa cut him off playfully, “Winter is here.”

Jon laughed at that before waving his goodbye and leaving, closing the door behind him. Sansa waited for the serving girl to enter her room and help her dress for the day.

_Now that I am established once again here at Winterfell, and being part of the court of a king no less, I should see about acquiring a handmaiden or two. It would only be proper. Even if I will be leaving soon._

Once she was presentable and the servant had taken her old garments to be cleaned, Sansa made her way to once again find Jon. She found him by the stables talking animatedly to one of the stable boys. Several other armed men were milling around and Brienne was among their number. Pod was nowhere to be seen.

Brienne noticed Sansa approaching and headed towards her.

“My lady,” Brienne said bowing.

“Lady Brienne,” Sansa replied inclining her head in return, “What is going on here?”

Brienne shifted uncomfortably, “It appears that during the night, Lord Baelish slipped away with a small party of the Knights of the Vale. Where he headed off to no one knows, but it appears he does not plan on returning. His few meagre possessions he brought with him are gone as well.”

Relief mixed with worry flooded over Sansa.

_With Littlefinger gone, I do not have to worry about the immediate threat he presents to Jon. But with him off who knows where, there is plenty of trouble still for him to stir up._

“My thanks Lady Brienne for the information.”

She continued making her way to Jon’s side with Brienne falling in step behind her.

“I don’t understand!” Jon was nearly shouting now. “How could they just vanish in the middle of the night? We have guards everywhere and they would have noticed the gate opening and horses being led away.”

“Jon a word,” Sansa asked as she approached his side. His anger softened as he noticed her arrival.

“There is nothing you could have done. If Littlefinger wanted to leave he was going to. You would not have been able to keep him hear. Growing angry and shouting at those poor boys isn’t going to solve anything.”

The anger was completely gone from Jon now and he sighed, “Yes, you are right of course. It is unnerving though how he as able to get away with anything. He simply gets everything he wants whenever he wants it.”

“Not everything he wants my King,” Sansa whispered surreptitiously.

Jon paused at that before continuing, “No matter. There is still a job to do today. I mean to head into the Wolfswood today looking for anyone we have not found yet. Perhaps make for Crofters’ Village if we have time and I would not be delayed any further. I am sure you have plenty to keep you busy here at Winterfell.”

Sansa nodded in reply, “Yes, go and see who you can find. Don’t worry Winterfell can be without its King for a day.”

Jon thanked her and mounted his now saddled horse that a squire had brought before him.

_Jon should have his own personal squire. Another task for today._

Jon and a search party of thirty odd men galloped away leaving Sansa and Brienne behind surveying an empty courtyard. As the dust settled Sansa turned waving for Brienne to follow, “Come there is much that must be done today.

\------

Sansa spent the rest of the morning tending to administrative duties. There was a substantial amount of daily work that was required to run a castle the size of Winterfell. She had shadowed her mother for years as she ran the castle and so was the best equipped now of anyone remaining for the task.

Brienne never left her side listening intently to the decisions Sansa made and how she went about keeping the castle going. There was a brief period during the morning where some minor disputes were heard as well and Sansa listened patiently to each supplicant’s case before handing down her final decision.

By the end of the morning, her daily tasks were complete and Sansa turned her task towards more important matters.

_And now let me see what young women and men of worth there are here at Winterfell._

She decided to interview for her handmaiden position first. At the beginning of the day, she had instructed Brienne to send word throughout the castle that anyone was welcome to come interview with her for honor of being her handmaiden and she had made it known that she was looking for a squire for Jon as well. This was highly irregular and was not the way these things were normally done but considering that everything about Jon’s ascendency to King was irregular, Sansa cared little.

_I will find the best person suited for each position no matter their status in life, as it should be._

She spent the next couple of hours interviewing girl after girl, all either too young or too old, some too timid and others to dull.

_If I am to spend large amounts of my time with this person, I would have it be someone who can be an asset to me. Not someone who blindly follows my every order._

Finally, someone who was familiar to Sansa stepped forward and stated her name.

“My name is Mya. Mya Stone my Lady.”

Sansa straightened in her seat remembering the young lady from her time spent in the Vale.

_This girl’s parentage alone makes her interesting._

She wondered if the girl herself knew who her father was. It was seemingly common knowledge in the Vale.

_No doubt Littlefinger has some plan for the girl. If I keep her close to me, it could hinder his plans._

“I remember you from my time spent in the Vale. Our paths crossed several times. Why do you wish to serve me here so far away from your home?”

“Indeed our paths did cross several times my lady. And each time memorable. I am sorry for the poor manner with which your aunt treated you. You did not deserve that. I have spent enough time sitting idle in the Vale watching as we do nothing to help our allies. The Vale and the North have long been close and I believe it is time we act so once again. I would pledge myself to your service if you would have me.”

At that Mya bowed low but Sansa gestured her to stand straight once again. After a moment spent in thought Sansa announced, “I would be honored Mya to have you by my side. I will have the chambers next to mine prepared for you. Let the serving boys know what possessions you would like moved into the room and it will be done.”

Mya’s eyes sparkled, “Thank you my lady. I promise I will not let you down.” Mya bowed low again before turning around and leaving to go gather her possessions.

Sansa turned to Lady Brienne standing still behind her, “And what do you think of my choice Lady Brienne?”

“I believe the young lady has great potential. You chose well Lady Sansa.”

“And now,” Sansa continued. “I believe that Pod has found someone to squire for Jon has he not?”

“Indeed he has my lady.” Brienne gestured to the guard at the door who in turn went to fetch Pod and the young candidate.

Pod entered the room first followed by a slight pale lad and behind him came the Lady Lyanna Mormont.

The three came to a stop in front of Sansa and bowed slightly. Lady Lyanna stepped forward first and began to speak, “Lady Sansa, I present to you Elias Snow. He is the son of my sister Alysane. He fought alongside your brother Jon as they did battle to rid the North of the Boltons. He is young but brave and ready to give everything for House Stark just like the rest of House Mormont.”

Pod stepped forward at that as well saying, “I have asked around the camp as well and it seems he killed a handful of Bolton men during the battle. He may be young, but he is as ready and capable to serve Jon as well as any. He would make anyone a great squire.”

Sansa nodded at this and observed the young lad intently. He stood with his chin held high yet a slight tremble came over him as he noticed her gaze. He was slight of frame but already growing tall. One day he could become a great Knight, provided he lived that long.

“Lady Mormont. Your house was one of the first to answer the call. I, and my brother as well, would be honored to have young Elias here at our side in the days to come. I gratefully accept.”

The boy seemed dazed at first, as if he didn’t believe it would ever happen, before finally remembering his manners. He went down on one knee head bowed, “You honor me Lady Stark. I will give my all to serve the King and protect him in battle.”

“Rise young squire. Once Jon returns I will inform him of my decision and he will set you to your training. Go now and ready yourself to begin your service.”

Lyanna Mormont expressed her gratitude as well and the two ladies exchanged pleasantries for a while before the Lady Mormont excused herself to return to the rest of the day.

“An extraordinary woman that,” Sansa murmured to no one in particular.

“Not unlike another lady I know.”

Sansa smiled at Brienne for her kind words and turned to Pod, “Pod, please make sure he has everything he needs to properly tend to Jon.”

Pod nodded and headed off to prepare the young boy.

Darkness was approaching and Sansa was tired of being shut in the castle all day. The majority of the items on the agenda for the day had already been taken care of and anything else left on the list could wait for another day.

She made her way to the door, shadowed by Brienne.

They headed outside and were immediately greeted by a crisp breeze and the accompanying driving light snow. Sansa wrapped her furs and coat around her more tightly and carried on. Jon had yet to return from his scouting expedition and she wanted to make sure she was there to greet him on his arrival. She crossed the courtyard, the hem of her dress dragging in the snow that had accumulated over the course of the day, and headed up the stairs that led to the walkway that overlooked the gate.

They stood there together, Sansa and her ever vigilant protector, in silence for a while.

Sansa broke the silence, “I mean to head south again soon.”

This startled the Lady Brienne, “Go south? What reason could cause you to go south? Does Jon know of this?”

“Yes he knows. We have discussed it at length and let’s just say it took some convincing for him to let me go. It was my idea after all. Trust me, we have our reasons and I know you will say it is folly but it is done. I only hope now that you will agree to go with me. I would have you by my side.”

“Always,” Brienne replied without hesitation.

“Good. It is settled then. At the end of this week, we being our journey south.”

A shout in the distance drew their attention and Sansa struggled to see through the blur of the snow and wind. Finally after several minutes it became obvious that a group of riders was growing closer. It was still too early to tell but as they drew closer Sansa could make out the Stark banners. It appeared that the riders had gained a few followers as well. There were several loaded down wagons with people walking beside them. Maybe a score of northerners come to find refuge at Winterfell.

There appeared to be no signs of combat as the riders helped the people into Winter town. This was a relief as word had spread of a band of raiders who had been attacking those trying to make their way to Winterfell. It was said they were men who were once loyal to House Bolton continuing on their dirty work. Once the refugees had a place to call home for the night, Jon and the rest of his men headed back towards the gate to enter Winterfell once again.

Jon smiled as he saw her and Brienne watching from above. He gave a tip of his head in acknowledgement as he passed under the gate and then he was once again safe inside the walls of Winterfell. Sansa sighed with relief and made her way to the stairs to meet him in the courtyard.

Once below, Sansa noticed that Jon had already dismounted and was beginning to take care of his mount. She noticed Pod and Elias standing not far off in the distance waiting and she deciding it was time to make the introduction.

She hurried over to Jon’s side indicating towards Elias that he should follow which he promptly did.

“I take it your day was a success?” she questioned Jon.

“It was at that. Yet most tiring all the same.” Jon continued to see to his horse beginning the task of removing the saddle.

“Jon, I want you to meet someone. Your new squire.”

Jon turned to face the bow who promptly bowed.

“Enough of that boy,” Jon growled. “What is your name and where are you from?”

“My name is Elias Snow and my home is Bear Island.”

Jon’s eyebrows rose upon hearing the boys last name but he continued unfazed, “Bear island eh, they are made of sterner stuff there from what I have seen.”

“Elias is the son of Lyanna’s sister. He fought beside you during the battle to reclaim Winterfell and acquitted himself quite well from what I am told.”

“Did he now…” Jon seemed lost in thought so Sansa continued.

“Pod is going to teach him everything he needs to know about being a squire. You only need to teach him when you are able and if it doesn’t interfere with your duties. He will serve you here at Winterfell and next time you enter battle whenever that might be.”

Jon turned to Elias once again, “In that case, I would be honored to have him by my side. You can start right now. Strip my horse and make sure you clean it thoroughly before watering and feeding it.”

Elias rushed to take the reins that Jon handed to him and proceeded to set about tending to the horse under Pod’s watchful eye.

Jon offered her his arm as the two turned to head back inside and Sansa gratefully accepted.

Jon started, “Let me tell you about my day…”

\------

The rest of the week passed in the same manner. Jon would leave as early in the morning as possible to cover as much ground as he could during the daylight. Sansa would remain in Winterfell tending to the affairs of state and getting to know her new handmaiden. Mya proved to be as cunning as she was comely and they quickly gained a rapport that Sansa was beginning to find invaluable. Elias proved to be a quick learner, riding alongside Jon during the day and tending to his mount and armor during the night.

Jon spent the evenings in conversation with her more often than not reminiscing about the way things had been. Little was spoken of their impending separation yet Sansa knew it weighed as heavily on him as it did on her.

Finally the day before she was to depart arrived. Jon was preparing to leave again for the day and Sansa was standing there helpless watching him ready to ride off and leave her behind once again.

_I guess it is only fair considering he will have to do the same tomorrow. And for a much longer time._

Still, she was tired of spending the day without him and today she resolved that would be different.

“Let me go with you today Jon. I would like to see the state of the North with my own eyes at least once before I head south. I have read enough reports to last a lifetime. Let me ride with you.”

Jon glanced between her and Brienne standing beside her, “I would try and tell you to stay here to be safe but at this point I know better.”

“Yes you do,” Sansa teased him.

“Anyways, there has been no trouble in the past week. The worst you would have to endure is the cold. Truth be told I would welcome your company.”

 Sansa hugged him quickly then moved to mount the horse that was provided to her. Brienne did the same sitting tall in the saddle towering over Sansa.

_I don’t care who you are. I would not want to face her on the battlefield._

She noted Elias caring to Jon’s every need as Jon mounted his horse and only then did Elias do the same. Pod joined them as well coming to a stop beside Brienne.

_It is good that Brienne has someone to watch her back, just as she watches mine._

Finally the search party was ready. They were to swing south today attempting to find anyone in need of assistance. The wind was light on the day and for once the sky withheld its usual deluge of snow.

The party left Winterfell and headed south on the King’s Road. The road was fairly cleared due to recent constant travel but if anyone ventured off the road they quickly would find themselves in banks of snowing that were impassable. The morning passed uneventfully and without finding anyone.

After traveling south all day, they finally swung east on a simple road that was more snow packed than they were used to. The going was slow, the horses unwilling to traverse through the deep snow without constant prodding.

Finally they reached the outskirts of Castle Cerwyn. The town surrounded the castle was deserted and the gates of the Castle were wide open. It appeared as if no one was around but Jon wanted to move in closer to investigate further. They rode warily through the town and up to the gate, weapons at the ready in case they were needed.

Brienne rode close on Sansa’s left and Jon rode close on her right. Elias and Pod rode behind them and the rest of the riders rode ahead and behind. Sansa could not place it, but something felt off about the place. She had spent enough time in danger before and she knew the feeling all too well. They passed under the gate; Jon looked warily above them to the walls as they did. Still no threat rose to face them.

Something stood out on the inside of the walls, although Sansa was unsure what it was. She nudged her horse in that direction and to her horror, she realized what it was. Human skin. Freshly flayed and nailed to the wall. She cried out as she turned back to Jon and Brienne but sudden motion on the walls had already drawn their attention.

“Above!” She heard Jon cry out. And then chaos descended.

A handful of men loosed arrows from above one finding its mark in the lead rider of their column. Another found its resting place in the shield that was strapped to Brienne’s arm and she brushed it off quickly with a flick of her drawn sword. The other arrows sailed harmlessly by into the banks of snow.

Jon’s men quickly fired a return salvo from their mounts hitting two of the men on the wall before dismounting and re-nocking their bows for greater accuracy. A door at the bottom of one of the squat towers burst open and savage looking men burst forth racing for her and her companions. Jon and Brienne rushed to meet them joined by the rest of the mounted men.

The mounted men cut through the ranks of the outlaws like a sword through snow. Jon swung left killing a man, then blocked to the right, while Brienne hacked at the man engaged with him and quickly dispatched him. Several of the outlaws had survived the charge of the mounted knights and made it past them them with a free path to her. One who had a severe scar on his forhead rushed at her and she kicked her horse into motion barely avoiding his oncoming attack.

“Sansa!!” she heard Jon shout across the din of the engagement. Yet he was tied up fending off two attackers who were intent on killing his mount and toppling him to the ground. Instead, she saw out of the corner of her eye, a small figure spur his horse and ride up to meet the outlaw.

The man noticed the mounted figure, who by now Sansa recognized as Elias, coming towards him and he turned to face his new opponent. The outlaw prepared to strike Elias from the top of his mount but Elias dismounted into a roll as his horse flew by and the outlaw swung at nothing and whiffed. Elias came up right in front of the man and violently shoved his short sword straight up into the gut of the outlaw. The outlaw clutched at the sword protruding from his midsection and stared in shock at the small man who had just dealt him a killing blow. The outlaw fell to the ground with Elias pulling his sword from the body as it fell.

Another outlaw who saw the way the tide of the battle was going, took one look at her before deciding it was not worth it. He sprinted for the gate and ran through it unopposed.

 _He is going to get away,_ Sansa thought angrily.

The man thought he was in the clear as he sprinted away but Sansa noticed a sudden flurry of white move out from a pile of snow and hit the man with uncanny speed. The man dropped like a rock and his throat was torn open by the great beast.

_Ghost. Jon’s direwolf. He must have been following us this whole time through the snow nearly invisible._

Ghost looked back at her, gave her a bloody grin baring his teeth, and then trotted back into the snow leaving a trail of bloody drips as he went.

At that moment Jon rode up beside her, blood stained and looking worried for her sake. On noticing she was unharmed the look of tension went out of his expression and relief spread across face. The battle was drawing to a close. The outlaws had the element of surprise but no order in the way that they fought. Jon and Brienne had led a quick and organized defense and used the advantage of their mounts to great effect. Once the initial shock wore off the conclusion of the battle was never in doubt.

Still, they left five of their men on the ground and two of their horses. In response, over twenty of the outlaws were lying dead either on the cold ground or on the walls above.

“Are you hurt?” Sansa questioned Jon anxiously. The amount of blood across his face and armor was worrisome.

“No,” he replied. “Nary a scratch.” He wiped his face with the sleeve of his arm removing some of the blood but still streaks of it clung to his face that would have to be cleaned later to fully remove.

“It appears you chose my squire well.”

Sansa looked at the lad who was resolutely wiping the blood from his blade on the tunic of his defeated foe, “It appears I did.”

Brienne and the rest of the men helped gather up the bodies of the fallen and placed them on the remaining horses. The rest of the men, who Sansa recognized as Bolton men, by their faded coat of arms, were piled high and after initial difficulty, set ablaze.

_We should leave them here to rot. Burning them is better than they deserve._

Yet Jon had given strict orders that any that should fall should be burned on a funeral pier. These dead did not warrant that honor however.

The burning smell of flesh permeated the air as the rest of the castle was searched. Nothing else was found save a few trinkets and possessions that the Bolton men had most likely stolen from the dead bodies of their helpless victims.

_A sad sight. The once proud Castle Cerwyn nothing but an empty shell of itself._

Finally Jon decided that they had spent enough time in this depressing place and they began their voyage home. The ride home was a somber affair. They had found no one in need of help and had lost men who were like brothers.

They arrived home just after sundown and the maesters on hand were called for to clean any small wounds received in order to prevent them from spreading. Jon dismounted his horse and headed to the armory with Elias to remove what armor he wore so that the lad could begin cleaning it.

Brienne excused herself with Pod as well to go do the same as she noticed Mya hurrying forward towards Sansa’s side.   

“Are you ok my lady,” the girl cried out. “I heard you were attacked and the King looked a dreadful sight when he passed by. I feared the worse.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” I was never in any danger Sansa lied. “Those who rode with me would never have let any danger befall me.”

“It is as you say my lady. I heard Elias performed admirably. Watching him tend to the King was like seeing son and father. The lad’s pale complexion and somber appearance make them appear like a younger version of the King.”

“Aye tis true they both have the characteristics of a true born northerner.”

“And yet neither are. Although I can’t fault either for that. The boy is a pretty lad and could well grow to be as handsome as the King himself one day,” Mya giggled.

One thing Sansa had noted about Mya during their short time together was that the girl was a tremendous flirt. Half the single men in the castle were wrapped around finger if the rumors were true and even some of the married men.

_If she sets her sights on poor Elias I feel sorry for the lad. He doesn’t stand a chance._

“Come Mya,” Sansa said as she continued to walk. “Help me get out of these cold damp clothes and change into something more comfortable. And then I will go pay Jon a visit to check on him.”

Mya cast her a knowing glance which Sansa ignored and the pair continued on the way to her chamber.

\------

Sansa found Jon in his chamber later that night sitting in front of the fireplace with a bowl of water resting on the crude table by his side. Several clean rags were present as well and had yet been unused. Jon was still in his undershirt which had been spared from being covered in blood by his armor but still showed splotches of blood where it had leaked through. His face was still streaked with blood and he sat with a dead expression on his face.

Sansa knocked on the doorframe several times causing him to break from his reverie, “Sansa please come in.”

She crossed the space between them and sat down in the other empty chair besides him. She quietly soaked one of the rags in water then squeezed the excess out before beginning to work on the skin of his left arm. She cleaned his entire arm of filth before motioning for him to turn so she could work on his other arm. He obliged, saying nothing as she continued to gently clean.

“I am so tired of fighting,” he finally said as she discarded the used rag and moved to pick up another clean one. “So tired of killing and watching friends die.”

She had no words of comfort. Nothing to say that would ease his pain.

_He needs you to be strong. Be strong for him. Help ease the weight of the world from his shoulders._

“When I was in the darkness,” he continued, “There was no pain, no fear, no longing. Just bliss. The bliss of knowing that it was over. There was nothing to worry about anymore. My part to play was done.”

“But your part is not over,” Sansa insisted as she moved to clean his face. “You have a greater purpose then I can even imagine. Why else would you have been allowed to return?”

“Why indeed…”

He watched her closely as she cleansed the last remaining streaks of blood from his face. His intense dark eyes watching her made her shiver but for a different reason than what usually caused it here in the north. His gaze was unlike any she was used to. In King’s Landing, the women had looked at her with scorn and the men’s gaze held nothing but lust. She was used to Littlefinger looking at her and seeing nothing but another person entirely yet Jon’s gaze was innocent, without any desire except for her own wellbeing.

_I don’t deserve his devotion. He would risk everything for me even to the detriment of his own self. What have I done to deserve this unconditional love?_

Next she indicated for him to remove his stained shirt so she could continue what she started and he replied by lifting his arms and removing his shirt. She gathered the last clean rag, soaked it water and began cleaning his shoulders. As she moved to his chest, her touched cause him to involuntarily shiver.

“Sorry, I know my hands are cold.”

Jon stopped her then and took her hands in his, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was hoarse yet did not waver. His hands were hot to the touch, like the rest of his skin had been, as if some internal fire raged within him.

Suddenly the urge to be close to him was so great that Sansa could no longer suppress it. She covered the space between them rapidly and lightly grazed his lips with hers before moving back slightly to judge his reaction. He appeared startled yet did not move away and remained holding her hands.

She moved in again and this time he reciprocated. His warm lips met hers in the middle and what started as a chaste kiss quickly deepened as their mouths briefly fought for dominance. After a couple of seconds Jon broke off suddenly startled.

“I am sorry Sansa. I did not mean for that to happen. I don’t know what came over me. I should not have done that.”

_Yes you should! And you should do it again!_

Instead Sansa brushed him aside, “The fault is mine. I was nervous about leaving here tomorrow and being away from you. It felt like something I should do. It felt right.”

_Yes, in a world where everything has gone wrong, kissing Jon Snow somehow feels right._

Jon looked somewhat guilty, “You know I would do anything to ease your nerves yet still…”

 _Ah yes,_ Sansa remembered, _we are still half-siblings after all._

“Never mind,” Sansa said brushing aside his guilt. “I believe it is time I retired to my chambers. Good night my King.” She rose and curtsied before him before leaving the room. He remained speechless as she left the room. She made the short walk back to her chambers and brushed aside the inquisitive questions coming from Mya who she promptly dismissed for the night. She removed her dress by herself until she was left with nothing but her night garments. She stoked the fire before climbing into bed. The events of the day pressed heavily on her mind and it wasn’t long before she drifted off. Her dreams that night were filled with nothing but Snow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Why am I not at SDCC!? The fact that I once again missed the GOT panel makes me sad. Oh well. Thanks to everyone who has read this story so far and enjoyed it. I appreciate all the love!

\---The Hound---

The Hound had been ready die. In fact he had craved death, had longed for it. Yet when he was finally at deaths door with arms wide open, it was denied to him. Truly, he had to be the most unlucky man there ever was.

But he had been saved, nursed back to help by an old man a group of kindly commoners. Together they had worked tirelessly to better their lives and to help one another. The man had told him he had some part yet to play, some unseen purpose. And then those he had worked with were brutally slaughtered. Once again he craved an end, desired for it to be all over. But not yet, not until he was finished.

He found those responsible for killing his little family and made sure they paid the ultimate price. And in return he was offered a job. A job going north to stop some impending invasion.

_White Walkers. Ha. I may have seen a lot of things in my day but I’ll be damned if I march north into winter to fight some fairy tale._

And so he had declined the offer and instead decided on a new course. One that would take him back to where this journey had started. His former masters were responsible for setting him on this dark path, letting his brother run wild with no consequence. He would not rest until they felt at least a fraction of the pain that they had caused upon all of Westeros.

His path led him ever closer to King’s Landing. Day after day it was the same routine. Wake, walk, hunt, sleep then repeat. He was in no particular hurry. His path was not straight and narrow, he wandered wherever the wind would take him.

He found Lannister men huddled around their campfires at night singing bawdy songs and telling jokes. He would wait till they were asleep then pounce on them like some vengeful ghost in the dead of night.

He would come upon a patrol on the woods or on some wayward trail and engage the foe on the spot. He cared for nothing, he lived for nothing but killing. His clothes were as red stained as the men’s armor he fought daily. He took nothing from their bodies after, save a small dagger here or a bag of wine there.

_A man cannot live on killing alone._

And so he continued south. He passed Harrenhal and the Isle of Faces. From there he decided to continue south following the Kingsroad. He traveled during the night continuing to ambush any soldiers he could find, and slept during the day so to avoid the larger patrols that he could not fight alone. Dying before reaching his target would do him no good.

He passed through Ivy Inn and Brindlewood drawing as little attention as possible in these hotspots of Lannister activity. Finally he approached a small village on the side of the Kingsroad that was but a short ways outside of King’s Landing.

The buildings were squat and sat closely packed together, as if that would protect them from the rest of the world. They were run down and decrepit but still the people living there clung to what they had. They had nowhere else to go.

The buildings were arranged in two semicircles surrounding a two story building that looked like it doubled as some sort of town meeting hall and an inn. It had seen better days.

The Hound eyed the village from the shade of a nearby tree posted up on the outskirts of the north side of the town. He watched closely for several hours as the sun made its descent to the on the horizon. Soldiers were stationed every so often around the town although there appeared to be no semblance of order in how they were arranged.

_Their commander must either be stupid or green._

He watched their shift changes that again appeared to have no timeliness to them at all. Guards came and went as they pleased, more concerned with the drink or dice in their hand than what might be out there watching them. Finally, he had the layout of the town committed to memory well enough that it was time to act. He made his way to the west side of the town and began his approach making sure to keep as low as possible with the sun to his back.

Two soldiers were stationed as guards blocking a slight alley between two wooden houses that doubled as an entrance to the middle of the town. One held a pint of ale in his hand and was leaning against the wall and the other was sitting on the ground drawing something in the dirt. He noticed by the dirty red hue of their armor that these as well were Lannister men.

The men were oblivious to his approach as he made his way carefully towards them. Finally, when he was but a few paces away from them. The man standing took his attention away from his drink long enough to stare right at him. The man covered his eyes with his free hand and squinted directly into the sun, “Oy who goes there?”

The Hound covered the last two steps in a heartbeat and with his left hand, slammed the man’s head into the side of the house as hard as he could using his full momentum. The man’s head hit the wall with a loud crack and he instantly went limp. The ale he was holding began to topple from his hand but The Hound deftly rescued it before it could fall to the ground and be lost.

The soldiers companion was struggling to regain his footing but standing up from a sitting position was no easy task when loaded down with a suit of armor.

_Idiot._

The Hound dealt a swift vicious kick to the man seated on the ground and the man’s nose shattered spraying forth blood. The man rolled onto his back and was still. The Hound grinned and quickly downed the remaining ale in his hand with one large gulp.

_Ahhhh. Nothing better. Well, maybe a nice plump juicy chicken…_

The Hound dragged the men’s bodies into sitting positions next to the wall to make them appear as if they were sleeping. From their bodies he gathered a pair of well sharpened daggers and pocketed them in his makeshift belt around his waist.

He proceeded to walk through the alley to better assess the situation on the interior of the town. Several soldiers were posted out in front of the Inn in the middle of the small village. Another lone man was drawing water from a well. Several more he could see posted up at other entrances to the small village facing outwards that he would make sure and deal with last.

A commotion on the far side of the town drew the attention of the soldiers guarding the door of the Inn and he saw his window of opportunity. With no one in particular watching, he sauntered over to the soldier drawing water from the well like he was some commoner who belonged in the village. When he drew closer to the soldier, the soldier glanced in The Hounds direction but by then it was too late. A quick slashing movement across the man’s throat followed by a shove over the edge of the well and the man was lost from sight.

The commotion on the other side of town, whatever it had been, had since diminished and nothing but silence and the few sounds of animals nearby could be heard. A villager exited the Inn and The Hound nodded in her direction. The woman gave him an odd look before continuing on her way in the other direction.

He continued to skirt the inside ring of houses, careful to duck beneath any of the few windows present in case anyone inside was watching. He finally came to where several guards had been stationed from before but he only found one still at his station. He crept up on the guard through the dark alley and jabbed one of his blades into the back of the soldier severing his spin and killing him instantly. This guard The Hounds deposited next to the outside of the house as well.

Finally as the sun was nearly all the way set, he reached the opposite side where all the commotion had been coming from before. Lying their strewn about the ground were five dead Lannister men. Blood was pooling around their bodies and had begun to seep into the ground staining it a rusty red.

_Hmm. Someone doing my work for me. I’ll have to be sure and thank them if I ever get the chance to meet them._

He continued around the outer ring of the town to the next area where guards had been placed and the same scene greeted him there as well. Apparently, with it being the end of the day, no one had entered or exited the small town at this time of night yet to find the bodies.

Puzzled but caring little one way or the other, The Hound began to make his way to the Inn. The rest of the Lannister men were probably still inside enjoying either the food and drink or resting in some of the spare rooms. The village was dark now, a slender moon was beginning to rise but other than the glow of several torches and the pinpoints of light coming from candles, there was no light to be had. The torches cast shadows that danced across the buildings like some otherworldly creatures from a cautionary fairy tale.

The Hound thought he saw movement in one of the shadows but rubbed his eyes and was unable to see anything further. He shrugged resolved to finish the task at hand then find some delicious chicken to eat. He was about to open the door to walk inside the Inn when he felt a sharp prick under his armpit on the left side of his body and he froze. He waited for several seconds without turning his head before asking, “Well go on then. Do it!”

Silence was the response given and he stayed frozen in place, “The least you can do is let me look you in the face when you end me. Who are you?”

The voice that replied was soft and familiar, “No One.”

\---Daenerys---

Hundreds of small transport ships made their way to the shore from the bigger ships still anchored farther out. Daenerys was sitting in the middle of one that was riding the swell of the waves up and down, up and down. Her joy at seeing King’s Landing and being home had been short lived as they decided to sail on past due to Tyrion’s insistence that they not approach King’s Landing from Blackwater Bay. Instead, they had continued sailing north until they reached a much smaller bay by the port city of Duskendale.

At Tyrion’s suggestion, a naval assault on King’s Landing would prove to be too costly and had a high risk of failure. Instead he suggested, and Daenerys tended to agree, that they should play to the strength of their forces. The army. The Dothraki and Unsullied were considered to be among the finest soldiers in the world, both in very separate ways. The Dothraki were wild and ferocious, while the Unsullied were cold and calculating.

The other reason Tyrion suggest making for Duskendale was because he wanted to use the town as an experiment. They were yet unsure how the people of Westeros would react to Daenerys and her army. Would they fear them as invaders or praise them as rescuing heroes? She firmly believed it would be the later but Tyrion was not convinced.

And so she found her homecoming delayed, if only slightly by their detour farther north. Duskendale was ruled by House Rykker, or so she was told, who ruled from the Dun Fort. The Dun Fort was a squat square stone castle with big drum towers. Fishing villages dotted the coast for as far as the eye could see in both directions. Many small fishing boats had fled in panic as they noticed the great fleet approaching.

Already a small contingent of her army, both Unsullied and Dothraki had made it to shore and begun setting up a temporary camp. The two forces built there camps a respectful distance apart and their layout was modeled after the people themselves. Daenerys didn’t care much how they built their camps.

_I don’t plan on staying here long._

Finally, her passenger vessel bumped into the sandy shore and she disembarked followed closely behind by Tyrion and Missandei alike. Grey Worm was off tending to other matters and Yara was with the rest of her fleet organizing matters so they would not be caught off guard by Euron’s Iron Fleet should they have chosen to continue to give chase. It had appeared that they had lost them at King’s Landing although Daenerys was sure they were still lurking waiting to strike.

Daenerys reverently touched the shore with one foot then the next. She shook with joy as she landed her knees knocking after finally being on dry land after so long. She knelt down and scooped up a mixture of fine sand and large brown dirt and breathed in deeply. The smell of salt and the earthy scent of the dirt was the most satisfying thing she could ever remember having encountered.

She stood up, brushing the dirt off her knees as she did and found everyone staring at her in anticipation. She briefly looked around before saying, “Let’s get to work. Tyrion tell me everything I need to know about this place.”

Tyrion proceeded to give her a history lesson on everything he knew regarding the town of Duskendale and everything that stood between it and King’s Landing.

“Duskendale is part of the Crownlands which is ruled directly by the Crown. It was once used by your ancestor Aegon the Conqueror as his primary foothold on the continent during his invasion. In that regard I would say you are in good company. The people of this region are mostly simple fisherman and farmers although here and there you will find craftsman of various degrees of skill. I wouldn’t expect much resistance from the common folk. They simply desire to live in peace.”

“And what of House Rykker?” she asked. “Do they also wish to live in peace?”

“If they are smart, then yes your grace. Why don’t we go ask them?”

With many more landing craft still arriving and others still returning to the larger ships for supplies, men and horses, Daenerys gathered her advisors and bodyguards and decided it was time to pay her new subjects a visit.

They began a slow but steady march out of the camps being constructed and headed towards the Dun Fort. Daenerys, Tyrion and Missandei rode atop horses as well as several other of her Dothraki bodyguard but the rest of her Unsullied were content to walk. Together they made a strange and foreign sight, she was sure, to the people they met.

They passed many houses of various shapes and sizes all with doors and shutters drawn shut as if that would keep them safe should they be attacked. Finally, they made their way up to the walls of the Dun Fort and stopped in front the gatehouse. The walls appeared empty with no one patrolling or watching from above although the gate was closed.

She nodded to Missandei who stepped forward and began in her most authoritative voice, “Before you stands Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons. In her name I command you to surrender yourselves and this castle at once or suffer the consequences.”

There was no reply but silence as the echo of her voice slowly died away. She looked back at Daenerys questioningly who in turn looked at Tyrion. He shrugged back at her. She was just beginning to instruct Missandei to try again when suddenly a white banner was draped over the gatehouse and the large wooden doors began to slowly creak upon.

“It seems to me the commander of this castle appears to at least have some small measure of intelligence after all,” Tyrion quipped. Daenerys shot him a reproachful look but it held no real anger.

_His wit on the voyage crossing the sea might have been the only thing that kept me sane. I depend on him more than I care to admit. And now I must rely on his knowledge more than ever._

A few people began to come forth from the castle as it opened. Some wore mismatched armor yet carried no weapons and presented no threat and others wore but common clothing indicating their trade. As they drew close enough to glimpse her they pointed and whispered amongst themselves. Tyrion indicated to her guard that they were now ready to proceed inside the castle, with caution of course, and they began moving again.

As they passed the onlookers, they either bowed deeply or fell to their knees most trembling at the sight of her fearsome bodyguard.

_Those dressed in armor are naught but boys. There are no soldiers to be found here._

This continued to be true as they made their way further into the castle. People stared in awe at her and in terror at her men. Finally they reached the main keep where she assumed the lord of this castle would reside. Standing in front was a short, stout man with a grey beard and an amputated left leg. He stood proud yet when she dismounted and approached him he inclined his head slightly.

“Apologies. This is the best I can do,” he indicated by tapping his left leg twice. “The pain is still there but the leg is not, worst of both worlds.”

“That is quite all right,” she responded cordially. “With whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

“Sir Rufus Leek. Castellan of the Dun Fort your gra--- I’m sorry. I’m not rightly sure what to call you. We already have a Queen here in Westeros.”

This drew gasps from some of the onlookers but Daenerys merely continued.

“A false Queen, Sir Rufus. And for simplicities sake you can call me Daenerys. Where is your master Sir Rufus? I was told House Rykker was the ruling house here in Duskendale.” Tyrion bobbed his head slightly at this.

“Lord Renfred was last at Maidenpool after routing some northern scum. Where he is at now, I couldn’t tell you. His wife and children reside in Duskendale still. I was charged with keeping them safe.” He said this last bit rather proudly.

“I would visit them in time if you would permit it,” she told the old knight. “But right now I have more pressing matters. My army is currently massing on the shores below and while we plan on staying here only a short while, there are things we will need while we stay. My advisors can sort out the details but for now, please show me to your lord’s chambers. I will make them my own while I remain.”

The way she gave the order made it clear that there would be no arguing the matter and the point was received by the knight. He nodded and set off to show her the way to her new quarters. A few quick instructions were given to Missandei and Tyrion with the order to come find her again once they had completed their tasks and then she proceeded to follow the castellan of the Dun Fort.

\------

The quarters that Daenerys had appropriated for herself were on the second floor of the great keep, just high enough so that she could overlook the entire city of Duskendale. Her advisors were droning on about various topics but she found herself daydreaming, only half listening to the background buzz.

She vaguely became aware that someone had asked her a question, “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“Of course, your Grace. I only asked for your recommendation on what the fleet should do now that the army has fully disembarked.”

She focused on Tyrion who had asked the question, “Have them remain here for the time being. As soon as we make our way south, have them mirror our progress.”

_And head south soon, we shall._

They had spent the better part of an hour debating strategies. While her army was not at its full strength after the battle at sea, she still commanded a large force of fighting men, one that would require a large amount of food and other various supplies. She had already instructed the quartermasters to begin ‘borrowing’ supplies from the town of Duskendale and the surrounding countryside but it was only enough to last a few days at most. Care had been taken to ensure that the people of the area had not been stripped bare, but still there had been reports of unrest among the common folk.

 _Tyrion warned me this might happen. And this is war after all. There will be casualties._    

Yet after everything she had fought for and accomplished, she was keenly aware that she was on a precipice.

_I must be careful to avoid becoming the very thing I seek to destroy._

After talk of logistics which bored Daenerys near to death, she let Tyrion oversee most of that anyways, talk moved to strategy for the upcoming battle and potential siege. Scouts had been sent farther south to report on the path to King’s Landing and what obstacles they would face. A lesser amount of men were also sent north and west in an attempt to keep them from being caught unawares by some hidden force. Even though she called Westeros home, she was keenly aware of her limitations and relied on Tyrion far more than she would have liked.

By all accounts, her army numbered slightly larger than what the Lannisters and their allies could field. Yet winter was upon them and she knew they were at a disadvantage in a strange land. A protracted siege could prove to be deadly for her cause.

_And yet when my ancestors came to Westeros, they had fewer men than I and relied solely upon their dragons to win the day. Those glory days will soon be remembered._

Her dragons had flown away west over dry land after they reached the shore, grateful to once again be able to hunt for their prey. They had yet to return to her since they had left, yet she worried little. They had grown large enough that nothing short of an army would be able to defeat all three of them together, and maybe not even then.

“And what of Varys?” she asked. “How goes his search?”

“It goes well enough your Grace.”

She looked to the doorway and noticed that Varys had just joined them, although she had been unware of his presence until he spoke. She gestured to an empty chair at the table besides Missandei and he gracious accepted.

Varys seemed content to let his entrance permeate the room before finally giving voice to what everyone wanted to hear, “The search for potential allies is ongoing, as is the search for a candidate worthy enough to marry our Queen.”

This idea had been talked about and discussed ad nauseam over the course of the voyage, ever since Daenerys had left her consort behind in Meereen, it had been clear to all, that she was serious about finding a suitable candidate for marriage. She clearly was willing to risk her own personal happiness for the sake of unifying her new kingdom, not through warfare, but hopefully through peace.

Varys, due to his particular set of skills had been tasked with determining which candidates made the most sense for her and now was his time to show his worth.

“It turns out the list of eligible suiters in Westeros that would be best suited for you is surprising small. For starters, there are those we can throw out off hand. We have Euron of course, but pending some drastic reversal, we know that is out of the question.”

The mere thought of the man turned Daenerys stomach.

“Then we have the unconventional choice of Robert Arryn. While he may be young, he does still command the forces of the Vale who have largely gone unscathed during the War of the Five Kings. There are several complicating factors with this scenario, of which Littlefinger being the greatest.”

This put Daenerys on edge, there had been rumors that it was Littlefinger who was behind the knives in the dark thought sought to end her life before she had been married to the Khal. Of course, the same rumors had been applied to Lord Varys as well and he had since served her well and faithfully.

“Along those same lines, I suppose you could consider Lord Baelish himself as a candidate for marriage. Not only is he the real power behind the Vale, he now has ties to the north as well. I for one would advise against this though your Grace. I know the man personally and he would never be content while you were on the Iron Throne instead of him.”

“I would agree with Lord Varys assessment,” Tyrion chimed in. “While no doubt the man is highly intelligent and would be a great asset, you would constantly be looking over your shoulder until the day he shoved a knife in your back.”

“And then we have the interesting choice of Jamie Lannister,” Varys looked sideways at Tyrion as he spoked. Tyrion went stiff at the mention of his brother.

_He has told me of his father of course but little about what passed between him and his brother. It is clearly still a subject he would rather avoid. And could the two even coexist at my side?_

“Newly eligible after being discharged from the King’s Guard. He is the heir to Casterly Rock, but his relationship with the new false Queen would prove him an ill choice.”

“I would say I have the only Lannister I need already at my side,” she said nodded her head in respect to Tyrion.

Tyrion looked greatly relieved to hear her say this.

“And finally we come to the last choice. Jon Snow. The proclaimed, although unwilling if what I hear is true, ‘King in the North’.”

“Snow,” Missandei spoke up on hearing the name. “Is that not reserved for bastards born of men from the north?” She looked at Tyrion as she asked the question. Tyrion had been advising Missandei about the customs of the Westerosi people at the same time that he had been instructing her.

“Indeed you are right Missandei,” Tyrion proclaimed. “In fact I have had the pleasure of meeting the lad, and the even greater pleasure of drinking with him. I traveled with him on his way to the Wall to take the Black. It seems his fortunes have much improved since last we spoke.”

“Take the Black?” Daenerys questioned. “I was under the impression this was a lifelong commitment. Why should I want to marry someone who does not honor his commitments and who names himself a false king?”

“It seems that he did indeed honor his commitment to the Nights Watch. Even up to the point of death, if the stories can be trusted.”

“What riddles do you speak Lord Varys?”

“Your Grace, the reports coming from the North tell an odd tale to be sure. Of Jon Snow’s murder and subsequent resurrection. And then his sudden gathering of an army large enough to retake his home of Winterfell.”

Tyrion chimed in again, “While these stories about him may be larger than life, I knew the lad, even if it was only for a short while, and the impression I received from him was most impressive. And there is no denying the fact that he is now the sole ruler of the North. The people of the North are fiercely loyal to the Starks, even a bastard of Ned Stark.”

Daenerys grimaced at the mention of Ned Stark and a strange look passed over Varys face before quickly disappearing.

_It would seem fate has an odd sense of humor. The son of the man who helped drive me from my home might just be the one to help me retake it._

“He has also allied himself with Lord Baelish. At least for the time being,” Varys continued “A large contingent of the Knights of the Vale rode north to help him claim Winterfell from the Boltons, and the Arryns have long been friends with the Starks. You might not only claim the North with this alliance, but all of the Vale as well.”

“Fine,” she replied. “You have told me only of his advantages. Am I to believe he is perfect in every way? If so what are we sitting here for, I should have married him already.”

A look passed between Tyrion and Varys as if they were internally debating on who should speak. Finally Tyrion broke the silence, “The Starks hold their honor close to their hearts, even to a fault. And while Jon may not have his father’s name, he has his stubborn nature and the will of any good northerner. It is unknown how he would react to the news of a Targaryen invasion, let alone a marriage proposal. I am sure he has no great love for your family.”

_That is right, Robert’s rebellion began over the Stark girl. What was her name? Ah yes Lyanna. There was something between her and my brother…_

“On the point of the Starks honor, I might have a solution if the offer of marriage to the boy pleases your Grace,” Varys waited for Daenerys to give her go ahead so he could continue.

“Back long ago, when your ancestors were embroiled in the Dance of the Dragons, the Starks supported the claim of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. There was one condition of this support that was never fulfilled which means technically it is still on the table. The condition was that a Targaryen would marry a Stark. Remind Jon Snow of this and he would be honor bound to agree to marry you, if you so choose.”

_This is more than I could possibly digest in one night._

To the rest of her advisors gathered she said, “I thank you for your council and will take all you have said under advisement. The hour grows late however and we have a full day tomorrow.”

 

This was all the dismissal her council required and they rose, bowed then made for the exit. The day wore heavily on her and she was ready for sleep as soon as she was alone. She was in a strange room, in a strange city, in a strange land, yet somehow felt right at home.

\------

The next morning Daenerys called a quick meeting of her council and it was quickly decided that there was no need to linger any longer in Duskendale. The army needed to continue to move to be able to sustain itself and Daenerys did not want to give her enemies any longer to prepare than necessary.

The temporary camp her army had created was struck, and the army mobilized for the journey south. Scouts constantly came and went, reporting in to Grey Worm only for him to dispatch others immediately after. As Grey Worm advised, keeping your wits about you in a foreign land was of utmost importance. Finally at midday the army was ready to move and began heading south.

The vanguard was made entirely of her finest Dothraki warriors ready for anything they might encounter. Her Unsullied marched in stiff orderly columns taking up the entire width of the road headed towards King’s Landing. The remaining Dothraki rode along the flanks of the column whooping and cheering as they rode. Occasionally they would even break into songs in their rough guttural tongue.

_They seem to be in great spirits despite those lost at sea. They are ready for a fight._

They marched without any resistance for nearly the whole day. Finally they came upon a small village with rough wooden walls. The walls were adorned with men barely visible crouched behind them. Her army came to a halt and she waved her emissaries forward. Two men rode to the front of the army and then kept going until they reached the small wooden gate.

They began stating their intentions when suddenly several arrows sprang forth from the wall. The first emissary survived the projectiles unscathed but the second was not so lucky. One took him in the knee and a second landed in his chest.

Shouts of protest arose from her Dothraki in the vanguard and without direction they sprang into action. Their brethren on the flanks, unwilling to be left behind, followed suit. Daenerys’ shouts of protest went unheard. Only her Unsullied remained stationary with Grey Worm shaking his head at the Dothraki’s lack of discipline.

The ground shook as thousands of Dothraki horses quickly encircled the small village. Arrows were fired from the village into the swirling mass of horse and men but had no effect. The Dothraki returned fire with arrows that were ablaze and quickly the village inside the walls was on fire. The walls had begun to burn in some places as well.

Screams rose from the village as people trapped in the blaze had nowhere to run. Finally the gates opened slightly and people tried to make a break for safety. They were quickly run down and slaughtered.

She sat there in her saddle simmering with rage.

_This was not supposed to happen. I came here to gather these people to my side, not discard them as irrelevant like their previous rulers._

As the sun went down it was finally all over, the smoke rose high into the darkening sky from the smoldering pile of ash that remained of the village. The Dothraki had finally calmed down, as much as they ever would, and Daenerys had called for an assembly of their leaders. The army had begun to set up camp for the night and scavenging parties were dispatched for the countryside.

As Daenerys waited for the arrival of the Dothraki leaders impatiently, Tyrion began to try and explain away their behavior, “Maybe this was unavoidable. After all, the Dothraki’s love of chaos is only surpassed by their love of violence. They were stored on ships for weeks. They were bound to explode at some point.”

“Even so, I will not allow behavior like this again while they answer to me.”

As she said this her dragons were spotted on the horizon returning from some hunting trip that had kept them from her side. Finally, after the Dothraki leaders were assembled. Daenerys came before them flanked by her three dragons. She stood next to Drogon slowly rubbing the side of his head with her hand. He snorted with pleasure and a puff of smoke filled the air hanging there like an ominous storm cloud.

She began, “The next time you allow your men to behave in such a manner, I will give you over to my children here and let them do with you as they please. Am I understood?”

The majority of the Dothraki looked thoroughly terrified and chastised yet one still began to speak, “Khaleesi-“

“Am I understood!?” she thundered once again. Silence reigned supreme and she dismissed the men satisfied that she had properly impressed upon them the gravity of their situation.

She was tired, hungry and cantankerous from the long day she had endured. She gestured for Missandei to attend to her for the evening and she headed for her large tent which was currently being set in place.

\------

The next day passed much the same. Daenerys woke, camp was packed up, quicker this time, and their journey south continued. Several other small villages and farms were passed but there were no incidents like the first day. Other than the ground being overturned by the many riders that passed through, the people living in the area came to no harm. She was grateful at least for this.

Grey Worm and Varys came and went throughout the day attending to different tasks. Tyrion and Missandei rode side by side throughout most of the day in quiet communication. Both unwilling to disturb the mood that she was slowly sinking into.

_I am getting close to what I have been wanting my whole life. Yet there is this feeling of dread I cannot shake._

From time to time Missandei would let a shy laugh escape from something that Tyrion had said.

_It is good to see her smile. And Tyrion as well. Both have been sullen of late._

It seemed that being back in Westeros had brought life back into Tyrion, yet she knew not how long that would last. Before long they would be at the walls of King’s Landing and Tyrion would be directly opposing his family once again.

Missandei seemed to be taking in the sights of this which was foreign to her. So far there had not been much of note in Daenerys’ opinion but Missandei seemed captivated by every little thing. The trees were different, the grass was different, even the sky seemed different or so she said. The only thing Daenerys made note of was the increasingly grey sky. As of yet, snow had not begun to fall but she had no doubt that it was coming, and coming soon.

Finally they made camp about half a day’s ride from the outskirts of King’s Landing. The scouts reported large amounts of troop movement headed for the city and had engaged in some short lived skirmishes with outriders from the capital. The camp was put on high alert for the night in case the Crown forces decided to make a move.

Plans had been made throughout the day and everyone was assured of their parts to play in the battle to come and so Daenerys was afforded a night to relax. Water was boiled and a large wooden tub was brought forward for her to bathe. Missandei helped her get clean before dressing her.

Missandei was combing her hair and telling her stories that Daenerys was only half paying attention to.

“…and then he drank so much that he couldn’t walk straight for a week.” Apparently Missandei had been retelling one of Tyrion’s exaggerated tales of his drinking escapades.

_If he wasn’t so good at being Hand of the Queen, I would have to make him royal bard and storyteller. I have yet to see his match for spinning a tale…_

Missandei went quiet after that. It was clear there was something weighing on Daenerys’ mind.

“Do you think I made the right choice, Missandei? Leaving Daario behind. The man was in love with me and utterly devoted to my cause.”

… _Three fires you must light, one for life, one for death, and one to love…_

“Did you love him my Queen?”

“Love him? No. But I had a great affection for him all the same. And I can’t deny our time together was enjoyable.”

… _Three mounts you must ride, one to bed, one to dread, and one to love…_

“I believe you made the right choose my Queen. He was not the one for you.”

“Hmm, and what of this Jon Snow? What do you make of him? I heard you and Tyrion whispering about him today on the road.”

_…Three treasons you will know, once for blood, once for gold, and once for love…_

Missandei paused from combing her hair for a second before continuing as before.

“I was curious to know more about him. What he looked like. His temperament. His upbringing.”

“And? What did you discover?” Daenerys continued genuinely curious now.

“Tyrion said Jon had a tough time growing up as a bastard, not unlike his own childhood. Yet still growing up the bastard son of Ned Stark could not be described as difficult compared to most.”

_At least his father was alive to raise him._

“Go on.”

“There apparently was some great mystery regarding the identity of his mother. Ned was the only one who knew her identity and he took that secret to his grave.”

_Never knowing his mother, we have that in common at least._

“What else did he tell you?”

“Tyrion spoke at length regarding his character. He even went so far as to say Jon reminded him of Ned Stark more than any of his true born sons. The boy apparently has the sullen temperament of any good northerner, yet has a hidden intelligence that you wouldn’t suspect at first glance.”

“And what does he look like, this apparently appropriately named Snow.”

“Tyrion described him as medium of height with a thin but strong build. Dark hair. I think he even used the word ‘pretty’. This word makes little sense. Is it not used to describe a woman’s appearance?”

Daenerys laughed at that, “In this instance, it appears Lord Tyrion was using it in jest, and perhaps a little bit of jealousy.”

“Oh I see.” Missandei had finished combing her hair and was beginning to put it into a simple braid. Stopping every so often to undo it and start again.

“And what of you and Grey Worm,” Daenerys teased. “I see the way he looks at you.”

At that, Missandei’s hands stuttered and let the braid she was making fall loose once again.

“I enjoy his company,” she began cautiously. “Yet I am unsure if he feels the same.”

“Come now, Missandei. He is clearly infatuated with you. The way he hangs on your every word. Or finds excuses to spend time with you. The man wants you.”

Missandei said nothing so Daenerys continued, “I know his…situation…might make things difficult. But there is more than one way to enjoy each other’s company.”

At this Missandei blushed, “Khaleesi!”

“I’ll say no more,” she raised her hands in mock surrender laughing softly to herself. “Just know that you deserve happiness more than any person I know, in whatever form it might offer.”

“As do you my Queen,” Missandei finally finished braiding her long hair in a loose braid.

_Yes, I suppose I do. Although what I desire most now, no man can give me._

“Thank you for your kinds words Missandei, and most importantly your time. I give you leave now to go seek out your own happiness.”

“Thank you my Queen. And good night.”

\------

Daenerys sat atop her horse high upon a hilltop overlooking a valley that stretched out below. The field at the bottom of the valley rippled with the sway of the grass that from a distance looked like waves on the ocean. A small forest was situated at one end of the valley while the other continued on flat for as far as the eye could see. Possibly until it reached Blackwater Bay.

Her Unsullied were arrayed in front of her in crisp battle lines, holding their long spears that reached towards the heavens. Their masks and armor made them impossible to tell apart but she could easily spot Grey Worms close shaven head in the front row with his men. She had tried to insist that he need not fight any more in the battles to come. He was more important to her by her side. He had refused straight away.

Missandei watched him intently clutching the reins so tightly that her knuckles were solid white. Across the valley facing the Unsullied was a small force of Lannister men in their red armor that stood out starkly in comparison to the green all around them. Daenerys men had overtaken them while they were heading to King’s Landing and instead of trying to outrun her Dothraki, they had decided to take up a defensive position and prepare for battle. She had to give them credit for their courage.

_They stand their hopelessly outnumbered and still they are prepared to fight to their deaths. Their leaders do not deserve such loyalty._

Banners whipped in the wind that had suddenly sprung up and in the distance, the tallest towers of King’s Landing were visible only as shimmering cylinders dancing in the daylight. The Dothraki horses stomped their hooves impatiently and riders upon them checked their weapons in the same manner. Finally through some unseen command, the Unsullied slowly began to march forward. The Dothraki on either side of the Unsullied sprinted forward as if to charge straight into the Lannister battle lines.

Down the gentle incline of the valley the Dothraki charged, as they crossed the bottom of the valley and neared the enemy, time seemed to slow for Daenerys. At the last moment, instead of crashing into the stout Lannister shield wall, the two columns of Dothraki warriors veered into one another moving with uncanny grace atop their mounts in order to avoid crashing into each other.

The Lannister men that had been waiting for the impact to come were taken by surprise. Suddenly a great buzzing noise filled the air as the Dothraki loosed a volley of arrows akin to a swarm of mosquitos. The arrows found their mark in many a Lannisters shield but also found their mark in Lannister flesh.

The red line across the valley faltered, men dropping in the front and second rows before they were quickly filled with the solider immediately behind. The Dothraki had now finished their sweep across the valley floor and were circling behind the advancing Unsullied line, each column of Dothraki warriors ending up on the same side of the battle field that they had started.

As the Unsullied prepared to close with the enemy, the Dothraki began another sortie forward. The Dothraki on either flank surged forward and began a gentle arching motion in front of the Unsullied who continued to advance. This time there was no pretense in their approach. They simply crisscrossed right in front of the Lannister forces loosing deadly arrows once again to thin the ranks before the Unsullied closed for combat.

The Lannister lines began to break. Some of the men gave chase to the Dothraki, enraged with the hit and fade away tactics they were employing. These men had no chance of catching the mounted Dothraki however and were promptly slaughtered by the tightly advancing wall of Unsullied who were now upon the Lannisters. The Lannister wall was fractured and with little hope of reforming in time, their commander ordered a charge down the hill with the hope that the downhill momentum would give them the advantage.

The Unsullied lines stopped and their shield wall braced for impact. The Lannisters crashed into the Unsullied with the clash of steel ringing out through the valley. The Unsullied lines absorbed the impact and the deadly long spears went to work. Jab then step, jab then step. The initial momentum of their charge now lost, the Lannister men milled around unsure of how best to break the prickly wall that stood before them. And that was when the Dothraki finally hit.

This time, instead of swinging away at the last moment, The Dothraki ranks spurred their horses on and cut through the Lannister flanks like a scythe through wheat. Lannister men fell or broke and ran only to be run down by the howling Dothraki. Many threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender and were promptly taken prisoner by the still advancing Unsullied. It had been a decisive victory, albeit one where the odds were stacked heavily in their favor.

Still Daenerys let out a breath that it felt like she had been holding the entire battle. Missandei too looked relieved that it was finally over and Daenerys reached over from where she was sitting to squeeze her hand and give her a tight thin smile. Missandei returned the smile and continued searching the battlefield.

Daenerys glanced to where Tyrion was sitting with a blank expression on his face. Varys had a smug smile plastered on his face.

_At least one of us seems to be enjoying themselves._

The Dothraki and Unsullied had coordinated in battle better than even she could have hoped for. They had spent the previous months on the voyage and back in Meereen preparing to fight together once it became apparent that they were to be allies. What form of communication Grey Worm and the Dothraki had cooked, up she was not entirely sure, and quite frankly she didn’t really care. As long as it continued to work as it had today, she was happy entrusting her armies under Grey Worm’s care.

_He has earned at least that much after all of his faithful service._

The battle being won, there was nothing left to do but oversee the aftermath. Healers rushed onto the field to see to any of the wounded and the Dothraki scavenged the dead and even the alive for tokens and trinkets. The Unsullied herded the few surviving Lannister men together and began moving them back up the hill in her direction.

Tyrion urged his small mount closer to her and address her, “Might I speak with the prisoners my Queen. Perhaps I can offer them some comfort and even try and convince them of our cause.”

_If you can do that after we have just slaughtered their brothers, then maybe I should be following you instead of the other way around._

“Go my Hand. Speak with them. Assure them that no harm will come to them as long as they swear fealty to their new Queen.”

Tyrion nodded and headed off in their direction. Varys eyes followed the dwarf as he rode off before returning to sweep the battlefield once more.

_I cannot tell if he has real affection towards the little man or if it is all just a game to him. Moving pieces around the board without any skin in the game._

Varys was a puzzle to solve at a different date. Right now she did not have the time. For while they had won the first battle, the war was just beginning.

\------

King’s Landing stood before her. Her army had already encircled the high walls, setting up siege lines in front of each of the seven gates in the city walls. King’s Landing was roughly square shaped, sprawling over several square miles inside its high walls. Inside these walls, it was dotted with manses, arbors, granaries, brick storehouses, timbered inns, merchant stalls, taverns, graveyards, and brothels. There was a fish market and hundreds of quays could be found in the harbor.  

The main roads were broad, lined with trees and branched out into narrower streets and alleys. Just within the mud gate to the south, Tyrion had told her that three great trebuchets had been added called the Three Whores which were a new addition to the defense of the city. They had been added and named appropriately to give Stannis Baratheon a warm welcome when he had moved to attack the city.

The city walls encompassed three tall hills which were easily visible from a distance. The hills were named after Aegon and his two sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys. Atop Aegon’s High Hill, stood the Red Keep, the royal castle which was located in the south-eastern corner of the city which overlooked the bay directly.

Visenya’s Hill to the west of there, was where the once magnificent Great Sept of Baelor stood. Now it was an empty hilltop with only scars of the once great building which had graced its peaks still showing. Rhaenys’ hill to the north was also capped by the ruins of another great building. The Dragonpit dome sat atop the hill, its great bronze doors shut for a century and a half since the last dragon had died.

 _Soon, the people of this city will learn that the demise of the last dragons has been greatly exaggerated._  

While Flea Bottom was not readily visible she knew of its miserable existence. Tyrion had lectured her on the existence of its people; they would be the first to welcome her with open arms if any would. Flea bottom was a maze of narrow streets and alleys, where the beggars and poorest parts of the city’s population resided.

Across from Flea Bottom on the other side of Rhaenys’ Hill the richer areas of King’s Landing sprawled out, while the rich inhabitants of the city enjoyed every luxury money could buy. Large tournament grounds were spread around outside of the city that were now dormant due to the siege that was just beginning.

 _The people of this city can go from watching men play at war to seeing an actual war first hand,_ she thought grimly.

Daenerys noticed Varys making his presence known “Is everything in place Lord Varys?”

“Indeed it is your Grace,” he bowed low.

The one thing that both the Dothraki and the Unsullied lacked was the ability to create the machines necessary for siege warfare. The Dothraki were used to fighting over open ground and so now had been assigned on patrol duty surrounding the city. Their task was twofold: prevent anyone from leaving the city, and prevent any outside force from catching them unawares and breaking the siege lines.

Lord Varys had been assigned the task of secretly recruiting engineers from the cities of Westeros, even some from King’s Landing, and promising them whatever they desired in return for their aid. Most of them request only that their families be brought to safety as well which Daenerys was happy to oblige. The siege lines had been in place for days before the first siege machines were ready.

First, giant mantlets were rolled forward onto the front line for protection. Next, simple machines were built and move into position that were capable of hurling chunks of stone and large wooden spears a great distance. Several large covered battering rams were crafted which would be used during the multipronged attack that had been planned. Great immobile trebuchets were constructed on the spot and were finally nearing completion for the first phase of the assault. Several towering siege towers were still under construction although they were not necessary for the first part of the plan.

And even with all of these tools at her disposal, she still considered Tyrion’s knowledge of the city to be her greatest asset. He informed her on the strength of each gate, the status of the portcullis, the heavy doors, and the usual armed guard that had been present at each gate during his time as Hand of the King.

He told her about the forces that were presumably guarding the city. The City Watch of King’s Landing, or the Gold Cloaks as they were better know, were the enforcers of the law, sworn only to the Iron Throne. They were housed in two sets of barracks, the East Barracks by the Dragon Gate and the West Barracks near Cobbler’s Square. While not as well trained and experienced as a normal army, they were still a formidable foe.

And then there was a portion of the Lannister army that was now housed inside the city as well. While the Lannister army had been spread throughout Westeros before Cersei rose to power, once she ascended the throne, she had begun to abandon the land that her father had conquered in the Lannister name in favor of solidifying her power in King’s Landing.

Tyrion gave information on the city defenses, where the walls were weakest and what strong points to avoid. He gave numbers of enemy combatants housed within the city, to the best of his knowledge. Varys as well had been useful.

The seeds of discourse had already been planted among the citizens of King’s Landing during Cersei’s coup and Varys spread information through the city like water to help the seeds grow. He spread word of a great and benevolent ruler returning home. One who had not only ended slavery where she came from after the tradition had endured for thousands of years, but one who championed the little people unequivocally.

Already since her army had been encamped around the city, riots had begun to break out in the city between the starving poor and the military charged with keeping order. Fires burned brightly in the nights leaving smudges of smoke remaining on the horizon when the sun rose.

Euron’s Iron Fleet sat in the bay. It appeared that he had made some alliance with Cersei although what the two had in common, Daenerys could not tell. She was assured by Varys and the rest of her councilors that Yara and her fleet sat just outside the harbor waiting to pounce. They were ready to deliver payback.

Everything was ready.

“It is time.”

She gestured to the commander of one of the great trebuchets that had been constructed that was directly in front of her, who in turn began shouting at his men. The giant stone that was sitting in the cradle of the large war machine was covered with some substance and with great care was lit. The arm was slowly cranked back, green timbers creaking and groaning against the motion as it went. Finally the arm was in place.

She could see trebuchets down the siege line doing the same until the siege line wrapped around the corner of the city walls and continued on unseen behind the city. The tension in the air was palpable and it seemed a great still settled over the ground between them and the city.

The trebuchet in front of her bucked forward in a violent motion and the others down the line followed suit breaking the illusion of peace. Balls of fire arced high in the air towards the city walls. Some fell just sort hitting the ground in front of the walls creating giant craters and spraying dirt everywhere. Still many more found their mark on the city walls. The earth shook briefly as the impact of stone on stone created a noise akin to thunder rumbling in the distance.

Stone fell from the walls in places yet the walls of King’s Landing were formidable and would not be easy to crack.

“Again,” Daenerys commanded. “And don’t stop until our path into the city is clear.”

Men scrambled to comply jumping into action to carry out her orders. Her Unsullied remained vigilant watching hell rain down on the city. Overhead, her dragons screamed to announce their presence and flew towards the city to join the assault. The Battle for King’s Landing had begun.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be a short cold opening before the main part of a chapter but it grew and grew before I decided to make it a full chapter. Things get pretty interesting here. Enjoy.

\---Bran---

“Shhh. Do you hear that?”

Bran went silent and listened. He could hear his heartbeat thump in the dead stillness that covered the snowy ground. Meera was crouched down low, her head on a swivel looking around. Finally another shout coming from the base of the Wall arose and both Bran and Meera turned to observe the source of the commotion. Making noise north of the Wall was a great way to get yourself killed.

The days since Benjen had left them had been cold and hard. They had managed to go undetected thus far by the dead and the White Walkers struggling to survive on roots and whatever else they could scavenge. Bran spent his days lost to his visions and his nights shivering trying to force himself to sleep. Yet he knew what waited for him in his dreams. It had become more difficult as time went on, differentiating between reality and the world he lost himself to whenever he was able.

Meera had been ever faithful by his side yet her strength was growing thin.

_I don’t know how much longer we can go on like this. Yet what alternative do we have. Do I dare venture south…_

A band of riders maybe twenty strong were leaving the great tunnel under the Wall that lead to Castle Black on the other side. As they drew closer, Bran noticed that only half were wearing the black of the Nights Watch. The rest appeared to be dressed in the dull colors of the great houses of the North. The riders seemed to be making for the tree line where they were hidden. Bran and Meera had been observing the Wall from a distance for quite some time now. Although rangers had been spotted ranging north away from their position, this was the first time that anyone had dared venture north of the Wall for several days.

The riders entered the tree line and paused, they were perhaps a hundred paces or so to the east. Bran prayed silently that they would head in the other direction but his oblations fell on deaf ears. It appeared that they riders had made up their mind on which way to head next, and they were heading straight for him and Meera.

Meera, panicked now, began to try and lift him up to move him but Bran new it was a lost cause. They were going to be found. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope by some miracle the rangers from the Wall passed them by. They crawled until they reach a thin bush and hugged close to it in an attempt to avoid being seen.

The first few riders passed by without detecting them and Bran was just beginning to have hope that they might go unseen. Yet just as that hope kindled inside of him, one of the last riders gaze cast over them and a look of surprise registered on his face.

“Hey, look. Over there!” he shouted at his companions. The rest of the riders stopped and looked at where he was pointing and then circled around to surround Bran and Meera in their hidden spot.

“Look what we have here,” one of the men of the Nights Watch sneered. “A boy and his wildling whore.”

“At least they are on the right side of the Wall unlike the rest of them,” answered another. He pulled out a wicked knife and began advancing on Bran and Meera’s position. Bran was just about to cry out when another man dismounted wearing Glover coat of arms and stopped the man of the Nights Watch.

“We were not sent here to kill children,” he gestured to several other of his men who also were men sworn to the great houses of the North by their coat of arms that Bran recognized. “Get them on their feet. They are coming with us.”

_House Glover, Tallhart, and Manderly. What are all these men doing this far north and traveling together?_

Meera was helped to her feet but when the men moved to help Bran they found him unable to stand.

“This one’s a cripple,” one of the Night Watch chuckled.

The Glover man frowned at that, his brow burrowed in thought, “Help him up. I have room on my saddle. He will ride with me.”

Bran was so tired and cold he had no will to resist. He was carried over to the man’s horse and unceremoniously deposited on top of the horse. He began to lose his balance and panicked as he began to slide off to one side. He was saved from falling by the man behind him who grabbed him quickly and kept him from falling.

“Don’t worry lad, I won’t let you fall. My name is Derrick. And what might you be doing out here all alone?”

“My name is Bran. And as for my story well…you wouldn’t believe a word I said.”

Derrick chuckled at that, “You might be surprised lad. But never mind, your business is your own and I won’t pry any further. Let’s get you safely across the Wall.”

Meera sat atop a horse leaning against the rider in front of her. She looked about ready to pass out from exhaustion. The riders began heading back to the Wall. It was slow going and the riders seemed on high alert.

_At least they seem to know the dangers that haunt those who stray this far north._

As they approached the Wall, the feeling of relief that Bran thought he would feel at finally being safe again never came. Instead, a feeling of dread grew deep in his chest every step of the way. The pressure mounted and he felt as if he might explode if they went much further. The air around them suddenly crackled with energy as they drew within the shadow of the Wall. Bran looked around to see if anyone else was experiencing what he was but they all seemed blissfully unaware.

The air around him hummed with energy and the words of Benjen came back to him.

_The Wall is not just ice and stone. Ancient spells were carved into its foundation. Strong magic, to protect men from what lies beyond. And while it stands, the dead cannot pass._

Remembering what his uncle had said sent a jolt of energy coursing through him. The fog his mind had been in was lifted and he was able to think clearly once again. He turned in the saddle to the man sitting behind him and said, “We must stop at once. You have to let us go. I cannot pass under the wall.”

The man looked back at him funny, “What do you mean lad. It’s not safe for you and the girl north of the Wall.”

“And it’s not safe for the rest of the North if you make us go with you!”

Derrick looked like he was debating whether or not to believe Bran before deciding, “Nonsense. I won’t leave you alone on this side of the Wall. I won’t have your death on my conscience.”

Bran was angry and shouting now, “I am telling you! If you take me with you across the Wall, you will have doomed all of Westeros!”

Now Derrick was angry as well from being threatened, “Enough of that talk lad. I am under strict orders to report anything I see on this excursion and you might be our best source of information we have found yet. You are coming with us and reporting to my commander even if I have to tie you up and gagged up!”

Bran fell silent at that.

_They don’t believe me. And why would they? Who would believe a crippled boy could cause any harm?_

Meera looked at him in worry through glassy eyes. She was too tired to fully grasp what was going on. The riders drew close to the gate at the base of the Wall. They stopped, and from on top of the Wall, a faint horn could be heard and the gate began to shudder and move. They were about to go through.

The pressure was still growing on Bran like a thunderstorm waiting to unleash its fury but as they passed under the now raised gate, a wave of stagnant air hit him and the pressure abated. He tensed waiting for something awful to happen but it never came. The torches in the tunnel cast an eerie glow and shadows bounced around on the walls but nothing happened. The riders continued through the tunnel in a sullen silence eager to be out from under the entire weight of the wall and to the other side.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was in fact only a couple of minutes, they reached the other side of the Wall. The gate opened up and Castle Black slowly began to materialize in front of them. Men dressed in black were milling around in the courtyard and others clearly of the North stood around as well. As the riders came out from under the Wall, the people in the courtyard became aware of their approach and many drew closer to check on their return.

“Why are you lot back so soon?” one of the men of the Nights Watch hollered out hoarsely.

“Never mind why,” Derrick shouted back. “Go gather the commander and the rest of the lords. They are going to want to hear what this boy has to say.”

Everyone had yet to notice Bran’s presence but at that they all took notice of him and Meera. Several men of the Nights Watch sneered at the sight of them but otherwise were silent. Derrick and the rest of his men dismounted. Derrick reached up and helped Bran down from the back of his horse. Another did the same for Meera. Derrick placed Bran lightly on the cold ground and Bran nodded his thanks.

Derrick collected a few things from his mount then handed it off to a stable boy to be quartered. He reached down to pick Bran up once again, “Come on lad. Time to tell your story.”

Bran had grown quite a bit in the past year and Derrick was not as stout as his previous protector. He struggled to carry Bran but gave no complaint as they approached a large set of wooden doors. They passed through and the chill in the air lessened slightly as they moved inside to a rough room that passed for a dining hall with a fire roaring at one end. At the other end of the hall set several men on one side of the table. Across from the table were several empty chairs.

Derrick moved towards one of those empty chairs and deposited Bran into one of them. Bran gripped the sides of the chair tightly to keep from falling over and he looked around the room. Meera had followed them into the room and was sitting in a chair to the right of him. She gave Bran a weak smile as he looked at her and he returned it in kind. To the left of him, Derrick had taken a seat and was now speaking to the men seated across the table from him.

Bran shifted his focus now to these men. In the center sat a large man wrapped in various assorted furs with a large bushy beard. His hair had a reddish hue and he sat with a scowl permanently affixed to his face listening intently as Derrick spoke. To his left, sat another shorter man but one who was no less stout. What hair he had left was peppered black and grey while his beard was fully grey. This man was playing with a bag that hung around his neck absentmindedly while also listening to Derrick’s report.

Several other men sat next to them as well. These were men who were part of the great housew of the North. Bran struggled to recognize them. One was but a young man that he remembered as Brandon Tallhart. They had played together growing up several times in Winterfell during the times when the great houses were invited for some special occasion.

Another was Gawan Glover, heir to the Deepwood Motte. A third man Bran recognized as Wylis Manderly, heir to White Harbor. There was no glint of recollection in any of their eyes. Bran had changed so much from the boy he had been. Plus everyone had assumed he was long dead.

_What are these men doing at the Wall?_

It was only then that we realized that everyone was staring at him expectantly.

“Boy,” Derrick said although not unkindly. “Tormund asked you a question.”

The large man sitting in the middle asked the question again, “What were you doing north of the Wall by yourself? And how are you still alive?”

Bran contemplated how best to answer before replying softly looking Tormund square in the eyes, “Do you believe in destiny?”

This seemed to throw the big man off and he looked back at Bran questioningly.

_“_ I didn’t use to,” Bran continued. “But now, I’m not so sure anymore. What I can tell you as that by bringing me here you have brought grave danger to not only everyone here, but also all of Westeros.”

Derrick scoffed again at this, “We have been ranging for weeks now. Not a sign of anyone or anything the entire time until today when we wondered upon these two. Jon spoke of this terrible threat that we have yet to see any sign of. And now this boy carries on making grandiose claims as well about how his crossing the Wall will doom everyone.”

At that, a look passed between Tormund and the older man sitting next to him.

_They speak of Jon. Is it that he is still alive? Last I searched for him in my dreams I saw nothing but darkness. I feared he was lost._

“What do you think Davos?”

Davos stared at Bran intently before speaking up, “What threat do you speak of son? Why does your presence here put us in danger?”

Bran took in a great breath and began, “It is as all the stories said. The dead walk among the living. The Night King leads them.”

At this Wylis Manderly scoffed, “The Night King isn’t real. Just some story made up to scare children. This kid sounds as crazy as Jon did.”

Bran held up his arm at that and Wylis went quiet. A dark handprint was seared into Bran’s arm and the rest of the men in the room suddenly became deathly serious.

“I was supposed to learn how to stop him,” Bran continued quietly. “But in my search for that knowledge, the opposite happened. He gained access to me and marked my arm. The magical protections in place to guard where I was staying were shattered and he was able to find me. I failed in my duty. And others payed the price for my mistakes.”

A tear ran down his cheek as he remembered his dear friend.

“And now you have brought him here,” Tormund looked at Derrick angrily.

“There is no way you believe his story!”

“Of course I do! I was there at Hardhome when thousands of my people were slaughtered only to be raised again to join the army of the dead. I saw this Night King with my own two eyes and the sight of him alone was enough to make my blood run cold. What will it take for you southern lot to believe what Jon has been saying all along?”

Suddenly, a commotion arose outside and every hair on Bran’s body stood on end.

“Everyone,” he shouted above the argument that had broken out. “We have to go now! He is here.”

Tormund and Davos took one look at Bran’s deathly pale face and nodded to one another. Davos scrambled from his seated and rushed for the door. Tormund shouted orders at the rest of the men present and they quickly obeyed. Tormund himself rushed to Bran’s side just as Meera had done and scooped him up from the seat he was sitting in.

The fire in the hearth at the end of the room dimmed low then sputtered out. From atop the wall, a horn rang out cutting clear through the suddenly freezing air. Tormund, Bran in his arms, ran for the door with Meera close behind him. They exited the building and overlooked the courtyard once again which was now bustling with frantic activity. A horn rang out loudly once again.

A man ran up to Tormund out of breath and ignored the fact that he was holding a fully grown boy in his arms, “Tormund, we have to send everyone to the Wall to fight! We must hold the Wall!”

Tormund looked down at Bran in his arms and Bran shook his head sadly. A third horn blast came from the top of the Wall confirming what Bran already knew.

_They have come._

The men around them in the courtyard froze for a second as the implication of what the third horn meant set in before hurrying back to their tasks at hand with a feverish pace. The Wall seemed to tremble for a second, the top swaying in the wind.

The base of the Wall shimmered briefly as if it was a mirage seen far in the distance. The air suddenly grew deathly cold, so cold it seemed as though your breath would freeze in the air. The inside of Bran’s lungs ached from the cold and through the base of the Wall walked the Night King flanked by his lieutenants on either side.

The men who were still in the courtyard took one look at the horror approaching them and they fled. Wylis Manderly pissed himself at the sight of the Night King approaching before being prompted by one of his mean to flee as well. Only Tormund remained holding Bran in his arms seemingly transfixed by the sight of the Night King. Meera stayed by his side although she was tugging on his furs in an effort to get him to move.

_He can’t move. The Night King has come for me and nothing can stop him now._

Anger filled Bran. The fear that had been coursing through his veins was replaced by the white hot fire of anger and suddenly he was no longer cold. Snow was pouring from the still sky all around them but any that came close to Bran’s crippled figure was diverted as if by some energy.

He looked up at the blank expressionless face of Tormund and he knew what he had to do. He reached up and touched the side of the large man’s face. Bran’s eyes rolled back into his head and he felt his consciousness slipping away. Everything went dark for a second before slowly regaining focus.

\------

He was standing on a flat snowy surface that stretched for as far as the eye could see in any direction.

_Standing. Ha, I could get used to this._

A figure approached in the distance. Before he could make out who it was, he noticed the glowing blue eyes that accompanied the figure. He braced himself mentally for the Night King’s imminent arrival unsure of what he could do, if anything, to stop his impending confrontation with him.

A figure suddenly appeared before him, small of stature but very familiar.

“Leaf?” Bran asked questioningly. He couldn’t believe it but before him stood what appeared to be one of the Children of the Forest. The figure before him shook its head sadly.

A voice whispered in his head that he could only guess was coming from the creature.

_I once knew a Leaf. Many lifetimes ago. But now is not the time to reminisce. For now He comes. Our greatest failure._

“How are you here?”

_I am part of this vessel. While He may hold sway over this creatures mind and body that belong to mankind, He can never hold sway over the part that is me. We created him after all._

“Can you help me?” Bran asked desperately.

The image before him said nothing before moving closer to him and reaching out an ethereal hand. Its hand passed right through Bran. The image continued forward dissolving as it came into contact with his skin.

_Stop him you must. And we will help you as much as we can. The Morning must rise again…_

And then the figure was gone, leaving nothing but an echo in its place. Power flowed though Bran and he was no longer afraid. The Night King was standing not but ten paces in front of him with his head tilted to the side inquisitively. He spoke in a harsh, sharp language that cut the air like a blade.

Bran was surprise he was able to understand what the Night King was saying.

“So it comes to this. You have sided with him. He is but a human boy. You created me to end his kind.”

In response a power surged through Bran uncontrollable that took him by surprise. A wave of unseen energy blasted out of his fingertips and obliterated the Night King’s figure standing before Bran.

Bran gasped in shock. Unbidden, he placed both hands on the ground and a voice not his own emanated from his body and echoed across the barren landscape.

_Awake! Awake! Awake!_

_\------_

Bran blinked confusedly as he slowly regained consciousness. Not a second had seemed to pass since he had entered Tormund’s mind. The giant man grunted in pain and fell to one knee. Meera steadied the man to keep him from falling onto the snowy ground. Bran knew what he had to do.

“Meera, get Tormund and the rest out of here. There is nothing they can do now.”

She looked fearfully at him, “And what about you?”

“What I should have done long ago. Stand and fight.”

Bran crawled out of Tormund’s grasp. The man was in too much pain to even notice. Meera helped the man to his feet and the two of them beat a rapid retreat out of the now empty courtyard leaving Bran alone facing the group of White Walkers who were now arrayed in front of him.

The ground where Bran now lay was but a puddle of melted snow and mud. The heat emanating from his body melted any snow that came into contact with him no matter how brief. His skin crackled with electricity arcing off into the frozen air.

The Night King simply stood there waiting. Bran fought, fought with all his might, imploring his body to obey his command. A white hot pain shot through his back blinding him in pain and almost causing him to almost lose consciousness again. The pain passed as quickly as it began and Bran blinked with surprise. A feeling that he had not felt in years suddenly returned. He wiggled his toes and gave a sharp rap of laughter.

He slowly forced his body to allow him to get up on one knee. Next, he glared at the Night King as he drove his body upwards into a standing position. He wobbled once before stabilizing himself. He smiled in triumph but the White Walkers stood emotionless across from him watching the spectacle.

Two of the White Walkers drew their weapons and marched towards him. As they drew near, Bran focused deep within himself and brought the well of power that resided in him to the surface. A great column of fire extended from the palm of his right hand. It looked not unlike a great sword. He grasped it in both hands, and tried to remember his lessons at Winterfell from many years ago. The White Walkers closed and his worries melted away. He moved gracefully between them, almost like a dancer, dodging beneath the blade of one before somersaulting over the blade of another.

His legs burned from the exertion that they were not used to. The White Walkers who had made to attack him burned as well, although in a different manner. Almost without realizing it, he had cut them both down with fire as they attacked him. The rest of the White Walkers looked to their leader in what almost looked like fear.

The Night King sneered and pointed his hand directly at Bran’s heart. Ice coalesced around the Night King’s hand and bolts of ice like icicles dashed towards him. Bran abandoned the fire sword and instead lashed out with an inferno of his own meeting the Night King’s attack in the middle between them. Shards of ice whistled by him deadly as shattered steel yet none were able to touch him.

Still the Night King seemed undisturbed. He lowered his arm that was pointed at Bran and instead raised both of his arms at his sides. A rumbling deep within the earth shook the ground and Bran knew that that this battle was lost. He covered the ground between him and the White Walkers in a blaze so hot it singed his eyebrows and his ragged clothes began to smolder. He quickly leapt away from the scene racing for the gate where everyone else had exited. A high pitched laugh that bordered on a scream followed him out of the courtyard as he left.

 As he headed south he came upon an encampment that was mostly empty.

_It appears that the lords of the North brought a sizable force with them to visit the Wall. Just not enough. Not even close._

He noticed a few people who were mounted remained. They stared at him in shock as he approached. One of them was Meera.

“Bran how are you-“

“Not now Meera. We can talk later. For now we have to go. There is someplace I need to be.”

_Home._

She nodded tersely and motioned for him to join her on her horse. Tormund and Davos were mounted beside her. Tormund seemed to have recovered mostly from his ordeal. The Wall shuddered in the distance behind them and Bran turned around to observe it once again. The fire he had started inside Castle Black blazed brightly still.

A great crack appeared running up and down the side of the Wall. The small group of riders began to leave with great haste heading south to join up with the rest of the army that was already on the move. Bran watched over his shoulder holding tightly to Meera in front of him as they rode. The Wall suddenly imploded and the ice on the top began to race downwards with the ground reaching up to embrace it. As the Wall fell, he was reminded of another different type of falling that seemed but a distant memory. And just like after that day, he knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Good job Bran. We all know the wall is coming down at some point. Its just a matter of how. Westeros had better get its affairs in order cause its on now! Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty fun to write guys. Hope you all enjoy.

\---Sansa---

Leaving Winterfell once again was the hardest thing Sansa had ever had to do.

_Is it because Winterfell is my home or because who I am leaving behind?_

Her farewell with Jon had been tender, but brief. Him promising that they would not be apart for long, her promising that nothing ill would befall her. So far she had proven true to her word. The journey between Winterfell and Moat Cailin was uneventful. The days consisted of hard riding through snow covered land, although the snow decreased significantly. As they approached The Neck, the snow stopped falling and it was replaced by a dreary mist that hung in the air permeating everything. The air was warmer in The Neck but the chill that accompanied the night brought with it the promise of winter.

Jon had sent with her the majority of his men remaining at Winterfell, those he trusted the most. Sansa worried for his safety with only a skeleton crew left to guard Winterfell but when she objected he would not be swayed. She smiled as she remembered Jon’s response.

_Typical Stark stubbornness. Once he sets his mind on what he thinks is right. No one can change his mind. Not even me it seems._

Finally they reached Moat Cailin. The northern approach was relatively unguarded. Moat Cailin was used as an effective natural choke point to protect the North from southern invasion in times of war. It was said to have stood for thousands of years. The only way for a southern army to bypass Moat Cailin would be to find a path through the swamps that surrounded it.

House Reed and the crannogmen who lived in The Neck would not let that happen lightly. They had stood as loyal supporters of House Stark for many years and due to strong ancestral ties with House Stark, they would be unlikely to aid any southerners.

Some said Moat Cailin was raised by the First Men. That it had once been a great a formidable stronghold, none could deny. Now it was a fortress that had long ago succumbed to Father Time. It once had twenty towers and great basalt curtain wall as high as that of Winterfell’s. As they approached, Sansa noted that what remained of that great wall was scattered about, half sunk in the ground, where the wall had once stood. Any wooden structures that once had been occupied were long since rotted away. Only three remaining towers out of the fabled twenty still stood, all covered in thick green moss.

Still, Sansa had no doubt that these towers, if fully manned, would be able to keep all but the most determined attacks from the south at bay. As they stood now, no one was garrisoned there. They passed through the ruins, Mya, Pod and Lady Brienne staring as they went. They made camp there for the night, the ruined walls and towers offering what protection they could from the elements. The next morning they woke and soldiered on.

As they rode further south into The Neck, the swamps pressed in around them. Due to the difficult terrain, the Kingsroad narrowed until it was but a small causeway marking the only safe route to travel south through the swamps. Huge flowers, lizard-lions and many snakes dotted the sides of the road as they traveled. Beneath the water, quicksand lurked ready to suck any who entered unawares to oblivion. One unfortunate rider fell to his death when his horse misplaced its footing. After that, everyone took extra caution to stick to the middle of the road as much as possible.

Sansa kept an eye out for any crannogmen. They were sworn to House Reed but still the sight of most of them made her uneasy. They were small of stature, some said from intermarriage with the Children of the Forest long ago. Most considered them cowards due to their fighting style using guerilla tactics. Sansa did not share this opinion.

_War isn’t fair. And dead is dead whether delivered by a knife in the back or a lance through the heart._

At night when they camped on the causeway, there were reports of men with green eyes watching them from the shadows of the swamp. Whispers of bog devils were spoken by some although the majority of the northerners were unfazed. Sansa paid the rumors no mind. She had found in her experience the only monsters to be found were those living among mankind.

Finally after several more days journey and only a few close calls with the swamp, they were almost out of The Neck. As they continued on, the days turned warmer until Sansa almost forgot what it was like to feel cold again.

_The one thing I missed about the south. Perpetual warmth. At least for now._

In order to reach her mother’s home of Riverrun, they would once again have to journey not only south, but slightly west as well. They would have to pass through The Twins. The one place Sansa dreaded going more than her time spent in King’s Landing.

_I must be strong. My people need me. Jon needs me._

Still the feeling of dread grew with each step they took towards The Twins, something which Mya and Brienne were both able to tell. It seemed to worry them although Sansa assured her that she would be alright. After several more days of hard travel, The Twins slowly became visible. Sansa had driven her expedition at a rapid pace as time was of the essence. She decided to camp outside The Twins for the night in order to give her men some much needed rest on the chance that they would be needed in the days to come.

Lady Brienne found her in her tent the night before they were to announce themselves to the Frey’s remaining at The Twins. Mya was combing Sansa’s hair and humming some song that Sansa found vaguely familiar.

“How are you feeling my Lady,” Brienne said as she entered Sansa’s tent closing the flap behind her as she did. She squatted on a stool across from Sansa that was much too small for her. Mya tied off Sansa’s hair with a ribbon and went and say down on the bed nearby. She then began to fix a tear in one of Sansa’s dress quietly.

“Honestly? Not well. But I will do what must be done.”

_For Robb. For Mother. The North Remembers._

“What do we know about the situation inside the castle?”

“Precious little I am afraid. Littlefinger’s intelligence was that one of Walder Frey’s sons now sits as lord of the castle. Beyond that, and what sort of greeting we can expect, we can’t say for certain.”

“I wouldn’t guess it would be a welcome one based on how your kin were treated last time they were here.”

At that Mya stopped what she was doing and glanced briefly at Sansa, a frown etched on her pretty face. Sansa frowned darkly as well gripping the parchment she was holding tightly.

Brienne noticed the tension what gripped Sansa and continued, “He’s going to be alright you know. He has been through much worse already and come through unscathed. Well unscathed might not be the proper way to describe his situation.”

Sansa started at that, “Is my worry for him that obvious?”

Brienne smiled trying to lighten the mode, “You needn’t worry for him so. He can take care of himself.”

“Yes, yes I know. But he trusted me on this mission after I begged him to let me leave his side. Looking back, I wonder if my decision to leave him was in error. He needs all the help he can get and I should be standing by his side not leaving him.”

“Aye he trusted you with this. And he trusted himself enough to know that he can get by without you. He is a King now. Like it or not, the path he now walks, he has to walk alone. The best thing we can do now is show him that the trust he placed in you was not in vain. We must clear the way to Riverrun. It is the best way to secure the safety of your people.”

Sansa nodded slowly at this, “You are right once again Lady Brienne. It seems you are as wise as you are brave. Your kind words are helpful indeed. Now if you would be so kind, I believe I should get some sleep for the night, or at least attempt to. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

“I will leave you to it then. G’night my lady.” Brienne bowed then and left.

Sansa turned to Mya was still sewing quietly, “What do you think?”

May stopped sewing and looked up, “About Jon or your mission?

“Both I guess.”

“If I were to speak freely, I would say that Jon was a fool in letting you go. You have more sense in you then the rest of his northern advisors combined.”

Sansa laughed at that and threw the piece of parchment she had in her hand at Mya, “Stop it. You know that isn’t true.”

Mya nimbly dodged to the side and continued, “But knowing you like I do now, I also know that you would not be content to just sit idly by at Jon’s side without actively contributing to the safety of you people. He seems to know that as well. Which makes him slightly better than most men in my opinion.”

“Yes he does seem to hold my opinion in high regard.”

_Let us hope I can live up to his expectations._

\------

The next morning, after camp was broken, Sansa found herself staring up at The Twins waiting for a response to be given from her request for an audience from the castle within. The land surrounded her small army consisted of an apple orchard on one side and a cornfield on the other. These continued up until they reached the eastern castle.

The Twins consisted of two identical stone castles standing across from one another on the Green Fork of the trident at one of its narrowest points. The castles had high curtain walls, deep moats turning each castle into a mini island, and a barbican and a portcullis each. A stone bridge arched between the two castles for crossing the river with the bridge footings rising from deep with the inner keeps on each side. This was the only crossing point on the Green Fork for hundreds of miles in either direction from the North to the western riverlands.

A tower guarded the bridge in the middle. It was appropriately named the Water Tower and its structure contained the usual means of defense to keep unwanted intruders out.

Finally, after taking long enough to try Sansa’s already short patience, a messenger rode forth from the eastern castle. He drew near to them unsure of whom to deliver the reply to. Brienne rode forth to accept the response and the young man openly gaped at the lady knight. Brienne glared at him as she yanked the response from his trembling grip. The man sat frozen on his horse unsure of what to do next. Brienne ignored him and promptly returned with the rolled up letter and handed it to Sansa.

Sansa unfurled the letter and began to read.

_Lady Sansa,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have heard your request to allow passage across the The Twins for not only yourself, but also any others that might follow you from the North. First off, I want to assure you that I had no part in the unfortunate events that took place here during your brother’s wedding. Those acts were carried out by evil men and besmirched the good name of House Frey. Furthermore, I have been given strict instructions to allow not only you, but the entirety of your force that rides with you, unlimited access to the The Twins. I hope that we can put the past behind us and build towards the future. A future, where the North and the Riverlands are united once more._

_Regards,_

_Ryman Frey_

Sansa was sickened by the contents of the letter which made a mockery of the slaughter of her brother and kin. Yet she knew this was something she would have to deal with. She nodded with a grimace to Brienne who in turn gave the response to the messenger boy. He gladly fled their presence back to the eastern castle of The Twins.

“I think it goes without saying that we should remain on high alert during our time at The Twins.”

Brienne nodded at that and set about giving final orders to the men under her command. Weapons were readied and the men handpicked by Brienne to guard Sansa formed a protective circle of steel around her. With Mya and Brienne by her side, they slowly made their way up to the eastern side of the river, weapons ready as they went.

The gates were flung open for their arrival and no more than the usual amount of guards seemed to be posted on the walls. Still passing inside the walls of The Twins sent shivers down her spine. Inside the walls of the castle, a group of people were gathered gaping at them as they arrived. She figured that the looked a sight considering the trip they had just endured. They finally came to halt in front of the great hall of the east castle and Brienne helped her dismount.

Sansa wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, spoke to Pod, “Have the horses fed and taken care of. I want them ready to go at a moment’s notice should the need arise. Pod bowed slightly, gathered several others, and set about to do as she bid. Her men, who had formed up in a long column on the road, were still coming through the gate and the courtyard was filling up rapidly.

_They are fine here for now. I expect this to be over quickly._

Sansa, flanked by Mya, Brienne, and her body guards, were led through massive wooden doors into the great hall. She steeled her nerves as she entered. At the far end of the hall sat a massive chair of black oak. Its back was carved in the shape of two towers joined by an arched bridge. It was an impressive sight and came close to rivaling the Iron Throne in size.

On the seat sat a portly man whose face was broad and fleshy. Small beady eyes adorned the man’s face and Sansa immediately pegged him as Ryman.

_He has the same weasely appearance as the rest of the Freys. Only difference is this one is fatter…_

He was relatively unguarded; her men surrounding her outnumbering the Freys assigned to protect their lord.

_I could strike him down where he sits right now and there is nothing he could do._

Instead, Sansa walked forward and Brienne accompanied her. Brienne stepped forward further to make the introduction, “My lord, I present the Lady Sansa of House Stark. Sister of the King in the North.”

Ryman seemed confused at that, “The King in the North is dead. He died here…” He trailed off at that seeing the look that Sansa gave him. If looks could kill Ryman Frey would surely be dead.

_Mother always said he was dull-witted as a stone._

“The Lady Brienne is referring to my other brother. The White Wolf. Jon Snow.” She glared at him openly daring him to comment. Ryman swallowed back whatever comment he had been about to make and decided on a different course. 

“I am honored to welcome you to my home Lady Sansa. I hope you and your men will find the accommodations to your liking. Might I add you are quite the beauty Lady Sansa. It appears not even the stories do you justice.”

The look he gave her as he said this cause her skin to crawl but she put on a brave face and continued on.

“Thank you Lord Ryman, although I regret to inform you we will not be staying long. I am here but to broker a peace between you and my brother. To make this peace possible, you will allow us safe passage across the river and continue to allow my brother and our people safe passage across the river in the months to come.”

Ryman licked his fat lips slowly and relied, “And what do I get in return?”

“I will recommend to my brother that he abstain from running his sword through your heart when you two next meet.”

At this Ryman’s face blanched pale white and he trembled so much his fat rolls seemed to jiggle. He seemed to consider it for a second but finally gave a brief nod in return, “A far trade indeed. I look forward to working with House Stark for many years. Shall I have someone show you to your quarters? I believe a feast is in order to celebrate our new alliance. The western castle has room aplenty for the majority of your men and you can stay in the Water Tower where our nicest guest quarters are located. Brienne and the rest of your guards are welcome to stay there as well.”

Sansa wanted to refuse outright, but decided against it. Nothing seemed to indicate that Lord Ryman was planning treachery, at least not yet. She was loath to give offense to the fat lord, even if offense was all he deserved.

“We would be greatly honored,” she said in reply and inclined her head slightly in gratitude. This took Brienne by surprise and she glanced at Sansa with a quizzical look as a servant began to show them the way to their quarters.

“I thought the plan was to move on and not spend the night here?”

“Plans change,” Sansa countered. “I want you to see to the quartering of the men on the west side yourself personally. Inform them that they are not to let their guard down during the night not ever for a second. I want double guards on duty. We leave at first light. Come meet me in the dining hall once your work is complete.”

Brienne made as if argue but Sansa cut her off, “Don’t worry. I will be guarded at all times. And from what I can tell, this lot of Frey’s seems to be made of even weaker stuff than the last generation. Without the Lannisters to add steel to their spines, they are nothing.”

Brienne looked unhappy, but finally accepted and practically sprinted off from her side to hurry and see to her tasks so she could rejoin Sansa’s side as quickly as possible. Sansa finally reached her room and discovered the meagre possessions she had brought with her had already been placed within. She set about to wash up with Mya’s help before the evening began.

\------

The feast was a slightly raucous affair. Her men sat in sullen clumps unwilling to join in the revelry that dominated the tables surrounded by the Freys. They avoided the wine, but were grateful for the food offered after their meagre rations they had endured on the road. Ryman had invited every Frey great and small to the feast and only a few who were outside of The Twins were missing.

_An uglier lot you could not find even if you tried._

She was seated at one of the tables closest to Lord Ryman, her guards sitting at the table all around her scanning the room for any sign of trouble. She had left Mya to attend to several things in her quarters in preparation for the continuation of their journey. Ryman was the loudest of anyone present and boasted of his new alliance with a King. Sansa had to plaster a thin smile on her face every time he raised his glass in a toast to their new found friendship. Finally as the night progressed she was able to ask him a question that had been weighing on her mind.

“Lord Ryman,” she asked looking at the man whose eyes were only slightly glazed over. “You mentioned in your letter that you were instructed to give us safe passage. Who gave you those orders? The Lannisters you served have no such love for the Starks.”

She knew the answer already but she wanted Ryman to confirm it out loud.

“Lord Baelish met with us weeks ago and instructed us it would be beneficial to us both if we were to extend this offer of peace to you.” His speech was only slightly slurred as he continued on, “Lord Baelish can be quite persuasive when he wants to be.”

_Indeed he can although what were his true intentions? And what did he offer you in return?_

The fact that this deal had Littlefinger’s hands all over it made Sansa uneasy.

_He does not have Jon’s best interest at heart. He interfered even after being told to leave this alone._

Sansa sipped her wine in thought. It was of a passable quality and the warmth that she felt from drinking was just beginning to seep into her bones and break the thaw that had a hold of her. The hour was growing late and she was ready for the night to be over. She stood and raised her glass to give a toast and Ryman pounded on the table until the room was silent. All eyes in the dining hall were on her as she began.  

“I want to thank Lord Ryman here for being such a gracious host tonight.”

This drew cheers from many of the Freys in attendance.

“The past is the past and nothing we can do now can change that. We must look to secure the future.”

A few uneasy cheers followed this but most of the Freys were either too embarrassed remembering the past or too inebriated to care what she was saying.

“I believe this deal will ensure the future of House Stark and those loyal to it for many years to come. And yet the past cannot be forgotten. The deeds done here by those of House Frey are unforgivable.”

She turned to face Ryman Frey who was about to nod off with his drink in his hand and continued, “And the North remembers.”

At this, the hall burst into commotion. Her men leapt from their seats in groups pouncing on the closest Frey’s weapons drawn cutting them down without discrimination. Sansa watched Ryman, never taking her eyes of him as he sat frozen in horror watching his house being snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Chaos reigned and blood splattered everywhere some landing on Sansa herself. She didn’t move a muscle. She soaked in the screams that surrounded her like dry earth begging for water.

Somewhere in the distance a bell tolled followed by more screams coming from the courtyard. The dirty work was mostly finished in the dining hall, blood, brains and bits of bone mixing with the remnants of the feast. The majority of her men left the dining hall to scatter throughout the castle to continue the cleansing of The Twins. Only lord Ryman remained sitting in his large chair a shell of a man shrunk in on himself. Sansa stood in front of him triumphantly flanked by several of her large hulking guards. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a wolf raise its voice howling at the sky alongside the screams being offered to the heavens.

A sword was offered to her by one of the men standing by her side. It was still slick with Frey blood warm to the touch. She took it almost overcome by its weight but she gripped the handle tightly with both hands and advanced on Ryman Frey at a slow furious pace.

“Why are you doing this?” He whined in terror. “We had a deal, an alliance.”

“Just like the ‘alliance’ you made with Robb?” her eyes flashed with hatred. “How did that work out for him? I honestly was worried you would suspect something but it turns out I had nothing to fear. The only time the Frey’s had the balls enough to ever do anything was when the Lions were backing your every move. Where are they now Lord Ryman?”

He trembled even more at that and fell out of his seat to his knees on the floor in front of her, “Please, I had no part in that.” He was begging her now. Tears flowing down his fat cheeks and Sansa almost felt sorry for him.

_Almost._

“Lord Frey. My family sends their regards.”

With that she drew back the sword in her grasp and thrust it towards Ryman Frey with all her might. The sword drove straight into his chest with a satisfying sound and warm blood sprayed up to meet her covering her dress as red as her hair. Ryman Frey drew a last rattling gasp then fell over wrenching the sword from her grasp as he did. She gladly let go ready to be free of its weight. She stared at his now dead body than motioned for her guards to move him out of the way. Her men had already begun to pile the dead into the corner of the room and they unceremoniously added Ryman to the top of the pile.

Sansa stood before the large throne and as she looked around the room covered in carnage, a wave of satisfaction swept over her. Her family was avenged. The Frey name would fade from memory while hers would continue on. They would speak in whispered tones of the Stark girl who single handedly wiped out an entire family in one night. She no longer felt like a helpless girl and it felt glorious. She slowly lowered herself into the large wooden throne that dominated the room and shut her eyes. Tomorrow would bring with it its own set of problems but tonight, well, tonight she was going to enjoy the moment.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang Sansa! Jon, please don't make this lady mad :)
> 
> So yah... Fuck the Freys.


	8. Chapter 8

\---Jon---

Jon sat in his council room with his advisors talking around him, nothing but a quiet buzz of noise in the background. His thoughts drifted back to a certain red head. Her absence now made him realize just how much he had grown to rely upon her. He missed her presence, her advice, her laughter. And most of all, he missed her touch. The kiss they had shared had made him feel alive again, truly alive, for the first time since he had been betrayed by his brothers in black. He was still unsure what was between them but one thing was certain, not an hour went by without his thoughts slowly drifting back to her no matter what he was doing.

Someone at the table was talking animatedly about their meagre supply of dragonglass. After the Boltons had been defeated and the rest of the North had been secured, it had been Jon’s priority for all of his search parties to acquire and stockpile what little dragonglass could be found in the villages and castles of the north.

What little they found, came in all different shapes and size. There were small pieces that could be sharpened and made into arrow heads. Others that were little more than small blades that were forged into daggers. Even fewer in number were the pieces that were long enough to be considerd short swords. Even then, these pieces were mostly too short to go up against anything the White Walkers could offer. Still, something had to be done to help sway the battle.

Fire and Valyrian steel were their best alternatives. Jon’s own sword Longclaw was one of the few Valyrian steel swords in all of Westeros. It was safe to say, they wouldn’t be able to stop the army of the dead by stockpiling Valyrian steel.

Jon was just beginning to wonder if the meeting had lasted long enough when there was a commotion at the door and in burst a messenger startling everyone at the table into silence.

The lad took a second to catch his breath and then started to deliver his message in between gasps, “Your Grace…riders approaching…from the north…moving fast. It looks like our men our returning.”

Jon stood up rapidly and addressed his small council, “That is enough for today my lords. It appears our expedition to the Wall has come to an end. Let us go see what they have discovered.”

The men in the room bowed as Jon made his exit and then they followed him likewise. He walked at a hurried pace, eager to greet his friends again and find out how the Wall fared. He broke into a jog once he was outside and took the steps two at a time up to the top of the battlements overlooking the approach to the gatehouse.

Indeed, riders were approaching and quickly at that. As they drew nearer, he could tell they were pushing their mounts as if being pursued, and a bad feeling washed over him.

_Something is not right._

He turned to one of the guards nearby, “Sound the alarm. I want all stations manned and ready for battle just in case.”

The guard nodded and set about his task. Soon the walls of Winterfell were crawling with every soldier garrisoned and able to stand. As the riders neared Wintertown he was able to get a better view of them. From what he could see, it looked like there had been no battle that they were engaged in. Yet clearly, they were riding as if their lives depended on it. He thought he saw Tormund’s giant frame in the mass of riders but then they had entered Wintertown and he lost sight. Soon they were through and arriving at Winterfell. The people of Wintertown had gathered on the sides of the rode to see what the commotion was all about and now were milling about speculating on what news the riders brought with them.

A flash in the distance drew Jon’s attention briefly but it appeared as lighting in the sky which was rapidly growing darker than even was usual for winter in the North.

_Interesting, this kind of storm doesn’t usually happen during the winter…_

He bolted down the stairs just as Tormund dismounted and Davos did the same beside him.

“Tormund what news?”

“Lord Snow,” Tormund greeted him without reverence. “It is as we feared. The Night’s Watch is no more.”

“And the Wall?”

Tormund shook his head, “The Night King brought it down around our heads as we were forced to flee.”

Jon staggered back in shock.

_So soon. Surely we should have more time. I have yet to hear from Sansa and we have just begun to fully heal here at Winterfell._

“The Night King is leading his army here,” Tormund continued. “They have been on our tails the entire way. His dead number in the tens of thousands. The only reason we were able to make it this far was the boy.”

This caught Jon’s attention, “Boy, what boy?”

“A young lad. Maybe mid teens. He has…I don’t know how to describe it…certain abilities.”

“Abilities how? Like Melissandre?”

Davos spat at the mention of the red priestess.

“Perhaps. But then again perhaps not,” Tormund said furtively. “I can’t really describe what he is able to do. All I know is he is the only person I know of you has stood up to that monster and lived to tell the tale. Come to think of it, he bears a fair resemblance to you…”

“Can we hold Winterfell?” Jon questioned impatiently.

Tormund shook his head, “Can you stop winter from coming? No, it cannot be done. The best we can hope for is that we can buy our people some time for them to make their way south. If we can hold them here, they might have a chance.”

Jon looked around at Wintefell’s high walls, “Then hold them here we must. Have your men spread the word throughout Wintertown, everyone must evacuate at once. Davos, I would task you with leading our people south.”

Davos bowed slightly, gathered several other lords of the North and set about to organize things.

Jon turned back to Tormund, “Now where is this boy you speak of. I would have words with him.”

Tormund turned and pointed North, “He held our rear guard. Him and that girl of his stayed behind and held the advance of the dead at bay.”

“I would see him at once. I won’t stand here doing nothing and let him fight my battles for me.”

Jon moved to mount a nearby horse despite shouts of protest from many including Tormund that he was too important to risk. He ignored their pleas and took off at a dead sprint headed straight for the one fight he knew could not be won.

\------

Jon didn’t travel far before he could see signs of the battle raging ahead. An orange glow bathed the horizon in front of him and the dark clouds hung overhead as if threatening to engulf the earth. A pair of small figures on horseback stood out against what Jon could now tell were flames, seemingly tending to them as if they were alive. Across from the relative wall of flames, stood the army of the dead. A pack of White Walkers stood in the middle of the rabble and Jon was sure the Night King was among them. As they slowly advanced towards the fire, it lessened and died out.

Jon was not sure how this fire was even aflame. It was dancing on top of the snow, as if it was using the snow for tinder. He focused on the figures on the horse, figures that he could now identify as the boy and girl that Tormund had been referencing. There was something strangely familiar about the boy…

All of a sudden it hit him. Recognition washed over him.

_Bran?? Bran!_

“Bran,” he shouted out loud. “Bran!”

The boy turned his head hearing Jon shouting and that was all the affirmation that Jon needed. The Bran that sat before him was not the same one he remembered, but he could still see signs of the young boy he once knew. His dark brown hair was the same although his frame had since grown long and lanky.

“Jon,” Bran questioned with a hint of exhaustion in his voice. “Is that really you or am I dreaming?”

“He is real Bran,” the girl said next to him in a soft voice that was almost drowned out by the roar of the fire.

“What are you doing here Bran? How are you here? Come back to Winterfell with me. It isn’t safe here.”

“I can’t,” Bran pleaded. “Without me, the flames will die.”

Jon thought back to his conversation with Tormund and his eyes widened.

_Clearly I have some catching up to do._

“You won’t be of any help to anyone if you fall off your horse and break your neck. Come on, Winterfell is close. We can hold them there. The walls are high and strong. If they think they can take us easy, they have another thing coming.”

Bran looked like he wanted to resist but could not summon the energy to do so. The girl urged her horse away from the wall of flames that was slowly dying and together the three turned and headed back for the safety of the walls of Winterfell.

\------

As they rode through Wintertown, Jon noted the stark difference in the town from only an hour before. It was now void of life that had been teeming in it only earlier in the day. They made their way back inside Winterfell and the heavy wooden doors were shut behind them with an ominous boom.

Jon moved to help Bran dismount and was shocked to find him already dismounted and standing there as strong as a tree.

“Bran…What…how…” he stuttered.

“Come on Jon. You should know by now anything is possible,” Bran replied sheepishly. “Before you ask any more questions, no I don’t know exactly how this has happened. It just has.” As he spoke, a small ball of fire appeared in his palm before he closed his fist around it and extinguished it.

“Enough for now though Jon. He will soon be here with his army and there is something we need to do first. I must visit the weirwood.”

Jon had a million questions he wanted to ask but could sense the seriousness in his long lost brothers voice and so simply nodded and remained silent. He stepped into a position at the side of Bran as Bran led the way to the weirwood. Their pace was quick and every now and then Bran stumbled only to be kept from falling by Jon.

They entered the godswood of Winterfell together in silence. The godswood was roughly three acres of old packed earth and close together trees creating a dense canopy, right in the heart of Winterfell. An underground hot spring fed three small pools, with a moss covered wall looming over them. In the middle of the godswood stood an ancient weirwood with a face carved into it, covering a pool of black water.

Bran approached the weirwood and stopped just before it, “Jon, I have to tell you something of vital importance, but first I have to do something and I need your help. Ever since I fell from the rooftop, I have had these…visions. I need to have another one now. This might be the last time for this and there is so much more I need to know. I need you here to wake me, to bring me back to this world. It is hard to explain.”

Jon looked as thoroughly lost as he felt but he nodded anyways.

Bran smiled briefly before he touched the tree and his entire body went stiff.

\---Bran---

_A million images flashed before him. A great wall of fire dotted his vision followed by a large explosion. A huge wall of water rose high in the air only to be dashed against the ground shattering everything as it fell._

_Men large and tall were filtered before him before instead shifting to men half his height. Strange creatures with many faces were followed by shadows that danced enticingly before him._

_A bleeding red star fell from the heavens and crashed to the earth. Darkness gathered immediately after bringing with it the cold breath of darkness. A spectacular sunrise flooded every fiber of Bran’s being. A lone pillar of light bathed with flame and blood battled against an utter darkness that threatened to entomb the world forever._

_A babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, tears falling on the newborn, the taste of iron in the air. A figure atop a dragon, face just shadowed enough to disguise its identity. Above it two more large shadows danced in the clouds._

_Suddenly, a figure with pale skin appeared before him. Its pale blue eyes pierced to his deepest soul. The figure reached out threatening to snuff the very life from Bran. Bran began to lose vision and he could feel his life slipping from his grasp. A voice rang out like a bell in the distance clear as before,_ As it has fallen, so too shall it rise…

_A sudden jerk caused Bran to fall backwards and the ground rushed up to meet him._

_\---Jon---_

Jon shook Bran awake as the boy had begun to convulse. He shouted at Bran and finally, Bran slowly opened his eyes.

“I thought I had lost you,” Jon cried out hugging Bran close to him.

Bran hugged him back before pushing him away and staring at Jon’s face.

“We don’t have much time and there is much I must tell you. I didnt want it to be like this and there is no easy way to put this so I will just begin, Ned...well...Ned was not your father.”

Jon looked quizzically back at him but Bran continued on, “Part of the rumor surrounding the identity of your mother was true. She died giving birth to you and father took you in to raise you.”

“I don’t understand, how do you know this?”

Bran pointed at his head, “Visions remember.”

“Do you know who my mother was?”

Bran hesitated, “Yes. It turns out you aren’t my half-brother, you are however my cousin. Lyanna was your mother.”

Jon was incredulous, “How do you know these visions are true? How can you trust them?”

“You just have to trust me Jon! I have never more certain of anything in my life. I fell out of that tower that day for a reason. I know my life’s purpose; I am trying to help you discover yours!”

Jon took a minute to let this sink in then asked slowly afraid of hearing the answer, “If Lyanna was my mother, then who was my father?”

Bran looked away from Jon before answering, “Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Jon fell to his knees and Bran joined him on the ground, “None of that matters now. What I do know is that your mother died protecting you just as my father did. If Robert would have found out who your father was…”

Jon’s entire world shattered around him. Everything he knew to be true was a lie. His entire life was built around a falsehood. He had a mother he would never know, and a father who Ned had gone to war against. Somehow, although everything Bran was telling him was a shock, it rang true with a sense of clarity. He had always been an outsider wherever he went and now he knew why.

He was alone at Winterfell growing up no matter how much Ned told him otherwise. He was alone at the Wall amongst the brothers in black, fighting to ensure the safety of the kingdom, as much against them as against the wildlings. He was alone during his time with the wildings despite Ygritte. And now even though he was the King of the North, he had no right to that title either. He was still a bastard though. No matter who his father had been, they had still left him with that birthright.

Bran shook his shoulders fervently, “There is no time to sulk Jon! There is more I must tell you. This battle before us has played out before. I have seen it. The forces of darkness once threatened all of Westeros just as they do now. And like before, someone was called on to oppose the darkness. I believe you are that man.”

Jon blinked at that, “Me? I am nothing but a bastard.”

Bran stared at him gravely, “Bastard you may be, yet there is no denying that king’s blood flows through your veins. A dragon of no ordinary measure, born of ice and fire and raised by wolves to give challenge to this threat in our hour of need.”

Jon scoffed but Bran continued, “And there is more, this hero of the past used a mighty weapon to defeat the forces of darkness once before. This weapon can be used again to destroy this Night King.”

“And I suppose you know exactly what this is and where it is at so that I can find it.”

Bran smiled sadly and shook his head, “Sadly no, of that my visions were not so clear. All I can tell you is that you must find it if we are to have any hope of winning this war to come.”

Jon’s head was spinning at that, “I’m sorry Bran but this is a lot to take in at once. Everything you say seems impossible to believe.”

“We all have our part to play,” Bran murmered softly at the weirwood. “Mine is here but yours is yet to be written. Know this though, no matter what happens here today, you will always be my brother.”

Tears filled Jon’s eyes as the love for his cousin filled his heart and the two embraced. A young boy burst into the clearing breaking up their display of affection and Jon turned to the intruder, “What is it?”

The boy bowed then walked forward to deliver a message, “This just arrived for you by messenger raven. And Tormund requests your presence on the wall. You are needed.”

Jon dismissed the boy informing him to tell Tormund that he was on his way. He looked down at the small roll of parchment in his hand. A seal adorned the parchment keeping it closed as well as a ribbon. A red three headed dragon appeared before him. Jon blanched white and almost dropped it on the ground.

_All this talk of my bloodline and this appears not moments later in my hand. Maybe Bran isn’t as crazy as he sounds…_

He pocketed the note on the inside of his jacket and filed it away to review later, provided he survived the day. He cleared his mind of everything Bran and just told him and headed for the exit to find Tormund, Bran stayed where he was not following him, and Jon stopped with a questioning look on his face.

“Go ahead Jon. I must remain here with the tree a little longer. I will meet you when it is time.”

Jon looked first at Bran and then at the weirwood, decided he had had enough craziness for a lifetime let alone for one day, and exited the godswood.

\------

Jon stood atop one of the tall towers that merged with the wall forming the outer curtain of defense. The army of the dead stood arrayed before him on the field waiting just outside of the Wintertown as if awaiting some signal. Elias his squire stood by his side. Elias bore a brave face looking out at the enemy awaiting them but Jon knew the lad was afraid. Several other boys were present as well to carry out any orders Jon might have. Tormund was off yelling at his men somewhere preparing them to fight to the last.

_At least our people are safely away. But if we fall here, that might not remain that way._

His men were battle hardened for the most part, wildings who had lived their entire lives in conflict, and men of the North who were coming from several years of almost constant conflict. Yet Jon held no delusions, the best they could hope for, was to achieve a holding action here at Winterfell. His men were armed to the teeth, dragonglass weapons being dispersed throughout the ranks, yet still they were hopelessly outmatched.

A sudden movement among the ranks of the dead drew Jon from his reverie and he watched as the enemy poured through Wintertown.

_So it begins._

The dead moved with inhuman speed, leaping across the snow packed yard nary making a sound. They made their way through the alleys and main roads of the tightly packed wooden structures of Wintertown. Once they were about half way to the outer wall of Winterfell, Jon watched as countless men on the wall nocked giant longbows, lit the ends of the arrows on braziers mounted on the wall, and fire a volley of streaking lights into the heart of Wintertown.

The projectiles found their mark, not in the heart of the enemy, but landed on the rooftops of the many wooden structures that made up the homes in Wintertown. Jon had given strict orders that the snow should be kept clear of the rooftops, not only to avoid cave-ins, but to prepare for a day like this. Some of the buildings caught ablaze while others were still too wet to catch fire. Even as he watched the first volley either fizzle out or succeed, another sprung from the wall right behind it urging the entire town to catch fire.

On the dead came, oblivious to the danger that was mounting around them. They poured through the town and reached the walls of Winterfell slamming themselves against the wall like a wave against the coast only to be shattered and covered by the waves that followed. They were using their own mass to build a ramp on which they could walk up and over the wall.

_If this doesn’t work soon we are lost._

His worry was for naught however. There was nothing but a sea of flames in Jon’s vision now, Wintertown succumbed to its fiery doom. The buildings began to fall apart now, smothering the dead who continued to follow in smoke and flames. The dead were crushed and burned alive by the hundreds, and then the thousands. Finally they stopped entering Wintertown and waited just on the outskirts, content to wait out the blaze.

The heat from the intense fire was enough to scorch Jon’s face even from a long distance although the dead stood right next to the blaze oblivious from the heat emanating from the remains of Wintertown. He could hear Tormund shouting orders to the men below over the roar of the fire. At the bottom of the wall, the dead that had thrown themselves at the wall were now standing upright again, faces gazing up silently at him with an eerie calm. Jon shuttered at their stares and pushed thoughts of them out of his mind.

The fire still burned brightly in Wintertown, but across the way, Jon noticed a figure step forward and raise his hands.

_The Night King._

Slowly, the fire in front of the Night King began to smolder and go out. It was as if a wet blanket was slowly being laid over the entire ruins that were on fire. After several minutes the fire was out and the dead were advancing again.

_So be it. We never expected that to hold them for long._

The dead charged towards Winterfell once again and this time the White Walkers advanced with them. They crawled forward leaping over and under burnt ruins and again, orders were given below and specs of light leapt forth from the wall once again racing towards the oncoming attackers. Many fell but more took their place and the advance continued.

The dead again were at the wall, using the mass of their bodies to create a ramp to overwhelm the defenders. Jon tensed as the roiling mass of bodies inched ever closer to the top of the wall. Jon looked down and was relieved to note that Tormund was waiting on the wall below for the right moment to strike.

Just when Jon thought that the dead were going to reach the top of the wall, Tormund and several large men picked up the massive clay containers that doted the wall at different intervals and dumped their contents over the side of the wall. The dead below were covered in a black thick substance. Tormund picked up a brazier nearest to him and without further hesitation, pitched it over the wall.

A massive light, almost blinding, engulfed the side of the wall followed by a heat wave that forced Jon to take cover behind the stone of the tower. The smell of burning rotten flesh emanated from the fire below and forced Jon to cover his nose to keep from gagging. Behind him Elias coughed loudly and covered his mouth and nose in the same manner.

The mountain of dead bodies at the base of the wall was quickly burnt to a crisp, leaving nothing but individual bones scattered around piled at least as high as a man. The dead milled around once again as the fire slowly died out, apathetic to the fact that hundreds of their own had just been brutally put down.

_What do they care, they were already dead in the first place._

For not the first time since Jon had face the dead, he wondered if they felt anything. Was any part of them still trapped inside the shell of their former self? Whoever they had been mattered little now. The dead slowly formed up and began their steady climb up the now blackened wall. This time there would be no more tricks. This was where they made their stand.

Jon signaled to Elias to follow him and quickly issued the remaining messenger boys orders to relay to his commanders and headed for the winding staircase to go join the rest of his men.

_And now it ends._

At the bottom of the stairs he was met by Bran.

“Bran what are you doing here? It isn’t safe.”

Bran smiled sadly, “It isn’t safe anywhere. And my place is here beside you. This is my home as well Jon Snow.”

Jon looked at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the field below, “Aye, I guess you are right.”

“Jon, promise me something.”

Jon looked back again at Bran’s now serious face, “Promise you what?”

“That if I tell you to leave, to flee and save yourself, you will do it.”

Jon began to object but Bran continued softly, “I am lord of this castle, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. You are but my guest hear and you must do as a say.”

Jon looked hurt at this.

“You have a greater part to play in this war then defending Winterfell here in the North. That is my destiny, you must go south to find yours.”

“I won’t leave you here to die fighting alone!” Jon shouted back at him.

Bran smiled wryly now, “Who said anything about dying? Trust me Jon, I have no intention of throwing my life away. But you have to promise me, promise me you will leave when I say so!”

Every fiber of Jon’s being wanted to say no, this was his brother damn it. He didn’t care whose blood flowed through his veins. And this was his home. But his people were on their way south, and Sansa was awaiting him somewhere hopefully safe and sound. As crazy as Bran sounded at times, something about what he said fit. Ever since his death and resurrection, he had been searching for a purpose, searching for a reason to live again. He had begun to find that during his time spent with Sansa, but now he knew for certain what he had to do. He had to go south and embrace the future.

_Just as father did, not once, but twice.Well, not father, but Ned. Uncle._

“I promise Bran,” Jon said solemnly.

“Good,” Bran said matter-of-factly. “On your way south, find Howland Reed. He was there the day you were born.”

Jon’s eyes went wide at that but he said nothing. A shout from down the wall drew his attention and he watched as a wight jumped over the wall and began stabbing the throat of a poor man, blood spewing everywhere. Another man standing beside him took the wight’s head off with a blow of a great battle ax but by then, the wall was abuzz with activity. The dead poured over the wall and there was no time for conversation.

Jon leapt forward slashing upwards at an enemy who appeared jumping over the wall killing the wight instantly. He continued forward towards another who had gained footing on the wall and was looking around for someone to kill. He swept upwards with Longclaw and split the wight in two from crotch up through its rotten head. Adrenaline surged through his body and time seemed to slow. His men were holding their own as the dead continued over the wall.

He settled into a rhythm, hacking left and right as the dead came over the top of the wall killing all who came within the deadly reach of his sword. He briefly noticed Tormund doing the same some fifty paces from him, rallying his men to keep on fighting. Bran farther down the wall would light up the wall with a ball of flame when the dead approached his position. He carried no weapon yet any who came near him met the same fate. Meera had joined him on the wall and she now clutched a dragonglass dagger closely daring anyone to approach.

The battle seemed to be going in their favor so far but his men slowly grew tired over time and the dead showed no sign of stopping. A cry from below arose and Jon’s attention was drawn to the commotion in the courtyard below. Men were shouting and running towards the gate.

_If they breached the gate we are lost._

Jon caught Bran’s attention and pointed to the gatehouse. Bran nodded and raced for the stairs heading below. Jon turned around and fought his way to Tormund’s side.

“We have to hold the gate!” Jon shouted above the fray.

Tormund nodded and stabbed viciously downwards to finish off a half defeated foe.

“Go round up others and bring as many men as we can spare!”

Jon leapt over the bodies which were beginning to pile up shouting words of encouragement at the men who were still standing manning the wall. Tormund headed in the opposite direction to find more men. Jon made his way down the stone steps that were now slick with blood and found Bran sitting cross legged on the ground in front of the gatehouse, eyes closed, a peaceful look on his face. Meera sat beside him.

As Jon approached, Bran took note, opened his eyes, and stood up. Before either could say anything, a large crack came from the large newly created wooden door keeping the dead at bay. A blue weapon protruded from the door. Frost began to radiate out from the weapon like blue veins across the door. Tormund arrived with roughly twenty bloodied fighters.

“As that all you could find?”

“Aye Lord Snow. And be thankful we were able to find this many. Any more and the walls would surely be overrun.”

Jon nodded back grimly just as another loud crack echoed from the door drawing everyone’s focus. The wooden door gave a great shudder before splitting in two to reveal the Night King and his lieutenants waiting just outside. A cold wave of air accompanied the splitting of the door and Jon shivered despite himself.

The rest of the men took a step back except Bran who took a step forward. Jon stepped forward as well to stand beside him. The Night King slowly advanced head cooked slightly to the side as if the thought of resistance was amusing. Behind him, in an orderly fashion, advanced first the White Walkers followed closely by the dead.

Jon could have sworn a smirk past over the Night King’s face as he stopped less than a stone’s throw in front of them. Bran clenched then unclenched his fists as if preparing for a duel. The Night King simply raised his arms at his side without drawing a weapon.

_Oh no._

The freshly made corpses of the wildling and northern defenders suddenly rose from their prone positions on the ground and began slaughtering their former comrades and friends. The walls were lost and the dead began to pour over them.

Bran looked at Jon sadly and Jon stared back wordlessly.

_Not now. It is too soon. He was just returned to me._

Yet his word had been given. This was not his battle, not yet at least. He had time only to reach out and grab Bran’s shoulder and squeeze it tight before he turned, signaled to Tormund and took off in a sprint towards the stables.

Behind him, a loud explosion was followed by a concussive wave which threatened to knock him off his feet. He steadied himself and continued on. The few horses they had remaining were already saddled in case they had been needed. He found Elias standing beside one waiting for him to arrive. The lad’s hair was matted with blood but besides that, he seemed unharmed. Meera had followed tears streaming down her cheeks. Apparently Bran had given her the same order. They quickly mounted up, and left the stable.

Winterfell had several secret sally ports for exfiltration if need be, and it was to one of these locations that Jon was now headed followed by those still among the living. The courtyard was now teeming with the dead but a brief glance in Bran’s direction showed that he was still keeping them away.

_It seems he is holding them by sheer force of will alone._

He gave one last look and then Bran was gone from sight. They found the exit that Jon was looking for and carefully opened it alert for any enemy presence. There was none to be found outside this portion of the wall. With the gate now open, the enemy was probably focused on that point of entrance.

Several more explosions drew Jon’s attention behind him to Winterfell as they urged their horses into a gallop away from the castle. Winterfell was again burning and the outline of the castle was illuminated against the now almost dark sky. Jon fought back tears, urged his horse to go faster, and prayed that their sacrifice here would not be in vain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew that was a tough one. Does Bran still have any tricks left up his sleeve? Here's hoping.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter! Life has been crazy recently and I have struggled to find time to sit down and write. Thanks to everyone who continues to support the story!

\---Bran---

Bran had held on longer that he thought possible. If Jon had made it outside the castle walls, he would be long gone. He had held the Night King and his army back, summoning every bit of strength his recent time at the weirwood had given him, but it was not enough. As his power waned, he was unable to keep the enemy at bay. He did the only thing left for him to do. He climbed.

He shimmied up the stable right behind him, amazed at how everything flooded back to him. The way he had memorized every nook and cranny, every foothold and handhold in Winterfell. He reached the top of the stabled roof and continued up the wall that it was adjacent to. Once he reached the top, he took off in a sprint, careful to avoid the blood that was splattered everywhere.

Upwards and sideways he climbed. He was like a fish suddenly returned to water, a bird freed from its cage to fly again. He climbed, as the dead clambered behind him hot on his heels, their ability to climb rivaling his. He was forced time and again to alter his path to avoid running into certain death.

His feet seemed to be leading him somewhere and finally after climbing what felt like every square inch of Winterfell, he found himself standing in front of the large ironwood door that lead down into the crypt of Winterfell. He turned around and took in the dead that were rapidly surrounding him and decided on the only course of action remaining to him. Using what little superhuman strength he had left, he forced open the door leading to the crypt and ran inside.

He shut the door behind him and breathed a sigh of relief. The inside was nothing but inky darkness that settled around him attempting to smother him. A loud bang echoed from the door and Bran knew that the White Walkers would not be content with letting their prey escape, especially not considering who he was.

He grabbed a torch from the wall, lit it, and proceeded to run down the staircase. A blast from the door behind him confirmed his fears, they had broken through. He reached the first level of the crypts and stopped for a second to gather his breath. A decision had to be made soon if he wanted to continue living.

He turned back from where he had come, and drew himself up to his full height. He reached forward and tendrils of invisible energy went arcing out of his body and into the staircase and the ground surrounding it leading up to the foundation of the First Keep. With a cry he was forced to let go of the power as his last remaining reserves of energy fled his body.

The effort was not in vain. The earth began to shake and the noise threatened to push all thought from Bran’s mind. A cloud of dust shot out of the now ruined staircase as dirt flowed down blocking the entrance to the crypt for good. He dropped the torch as he fell to the ground in exhaustion. He was utterly spent.

He lay back and a crazed laugh, almost a cackle, escaped his parched throat. He was alive, but trapped with centuries of dead Starks. The darkness pressed around him then, not only his body, but his mind as well. He finally stopped fighting it and let go, lost to the oblivion of sleep.  

\---Jon---

After riding throughout the night, Jon and the survivors of the Battle of Winterfell finally caught up with the rest of the refugees from the North traveling south. The story quickly spread of the fall of Winterfell and while the prevailing mood was a depressing one, the fact that Jon had escaped seemed to bring a small ray of hope to most. Jon was quick to give the credit to all who had lost their lives buying time for everyone to escape. He also made it clear that they were not safe yet.

A heavy rear guard was posted and riders were sent back in the direction of Winterfell to give as much warning as possible for when the White Walkers decided to send their army south after the survivors. As the days passed though, there was no word of any immediate threat and the mood around the camp lightened, at least a little. The cold perpetual whiteness of the north gave way to the greenness of the neck, many of the young children seeing this for the first time.

Meera was still in mourning. Jon did his best to comfort her but he was of little use. He was just as depressed about his cousins assumed fate as she was and they mourned in silence together. Tormund was uncharacteristically depressed as well. Many of the fighters that fell at Winterfell were Wildings. Few now remained save for the women and children and Jon could tell that this weighed heavily on the wildling commander.

Elias remained a steadfast supporter and a silent learner. Jon was surprised at how much he now relied on the boy, and he wondered how he ever lived without a squire. He was grateful for the people around him giving him constant support, even when he felt like he didn’t deserve it. The words of Bran, and the truth of his lineage weighed heavily on his mind.

He though more and more about Bran’s last words to him regarding Howland Reed. Ned had spoken of him in passing but beyond that, little was known of the man. He was said to be secretive, and to have spent the last decade exclusively in The Neck. Hearing from Bran that Howland might know the truth about his birth, Jon did not blame the man. The secret he might hold was great enough for many to kill over.

The journey over The Neck was an unpleasant one. The many women and children made the going slow, as did the many possessions the people had tried to take with them when they fled Winterfell. Many wagons had to be left behind due to being caught in the swamps. After an eventful week, they were almost through however with the promise of being clear of the swamp fresh on everyone’s mind. It was then that Jon made up his mind.

A quick council meeting was held, with those lords who remained, alongside Davos and Tormund. Jon did not share the details behind his desire to visit Greywater Watch. He said only that he wished to find the Reeds and warn them of the incoming threat. He owed them that much as their liege lord. It was said that no messenger raven could find the floating fortress, but nevertheless, Jon was resolved to do just that.

The council offered to send with him what remaining forces they had to protect him. Jon waved them off. The people of the North would need all the protection they could get as they headed south provided Sansa was unable to secure safe passage. Plus, the swamps made large movements of men ungainly. Better to take a smaller amount of heavily armed men, which is the path they settled on. Meera was to lead them through the treacherous swamp, forsaking any horses that would only get stuck in the mire.

The next morning, they slipped off before dawn, Jon, Meera, Elias, and a dozen other men. They headed west on Meera’s direction and broke away from the causeway on which the Kingsroad ran. Meera led them on secret paths that lay right below the surface of the water. These pathways were surprisingly stable and made it appear like everyone was walking on the surface of the water. Several times, someone ventured a little too far off course and slipped almost to their death. Everyone was able to react in time to save the unfortunate soul however, and so far, no lives had been lost.

Finally, after several nights of sleeping on small little islands in the middle of the swamp and trekking onwards throughout the days, smoke could be seen rising in the distance. As they drew closer, shapes drew out of the swamp, seemingly materializing from thin air. Jon’s men drew their weapons and snarled ready for a fight but Meera jumped in cutting them off, “Sheath your weapons. These men are not your enemy.”

Jon could indeed tell now that the shapes coming from the swamp were men. Short men, but men nonetheless. Meera spoke with them quietly out of earshot and one who seemed to be their leader, nodded his head and beckoned for the rest to follow him. His men were reluctant to oblige, but as soon as they noticed Jon following Meera away, they took off after him begrudgingly.

Finally, the undergrowth that had been blocking their vision cleared and what Jon could only imagine was Greywater Watch appeared before him.

It indeed appeared to be floating on top of the swamp. The buildings swayed with the current of the moving swamp around them. When Jon looked closer however, he noticed massive wooden pillars that jutted up out of the swampy mire. The buildings of Greywater Watch were tethered to these poles keeping the town in place.

There was no wall to speak of guarding the town. The buildings were all made of wood. In what Jon assumed were older portions of the floating town, rotten and decayed wooden structures appeared abandoned and were slowly being reclaimed by the swamp. Other, newer buildings in different locations had been constructed to take the place of these structures they had lost. All together it was less than Wintertown was and far less than the size of Winterfell itself. The mixture of newer and older buildings gave the town a patchwork appearance.

As they drew closer to the entrance of the town, Jon noticed small boats docked next to the outskirts. Some were manned by small men with crude weapons, others by women. Small children darted about playing by the edge of the swamp oblivious to the precarious footing near the edge of the swamp.

Meera guided them down that passed for the main road into the town. It was a relief to be on relatively dry ground again and not the swamp underneath like Jon had grown used to. They continued down the road, people peeking out of their humble structures to stare at them as they went by. The people here were not so different from anywhere else. Maybe slight of stature, but people just the same. Jon smiled at several children as he walked by and they giggled pointing at him and talking amongst themselves as he passed on.

They reached the middle of the town and before them stood a large wooden structure which dominated the town. Jon was sure that from the top, you would have an unobstructed view of the entire town. A man appeared out of a rough door at the bottom of the structure. He took one look at Meera and she at him, and they two raced together and met in a giant embrace.

_Howland Reed I presume._

Jon waited patiently for the two to properly reunite. He knew not how long the two had been apart, yet he felt their joy from finally being together. Yet the reunion was to be bittersweet.

“Jojen?” Howland questioned.

Meera shook her head sadly, “He fell north of the Wall defending Bran.”

“And Bran?”

Jon spoke up, “He stayed behind at Winterfell, to give us time to escape.”

Howland looked at Jon as if seeing him for the first time.

“And you could be no one else but Jon. You look so much like your father…”

Jon scowled at that and in return Howland looked questioning between Meera and Jon. Meera shrugged unknowingly and Howland returned his attention back to Jon.

“I wondered if I would ever see you again. It has been so many years. It does an old man good to see you alive.”

“Howland,” Jon paused, “You knew my father. I would ask some questions of you about him. Questions that need answering.”

Howland took one look at Jon’s somber expression and nodded motioning for Jon and Meera to follow him inside the wooden keep.

“This conversation,” Jon continued. “This must be between just you and me.”

He felt bad separating father from daughter so soon after their reunion but he was not ready for anyone except those absolutely necessary to hear what he was about to say.

Howland paused at that before exchanging a quick word with Meera who hugged him again and then gave Jon a quizzical look before running off elsewhere. Jon stepped up besides Howland and the two of them headed inside.

The inside of the wooden keep was dark, dotted here and there by candles which were carefully placed to lessen the possibility of them starting a fire which would be deadly inside the wooden city. They continued down a hallway and took several turns that Jon found hard to follow in the almost utter dark. Finally, they reached a dark stairwell and began to ascend. The stairs were also made out of wood and had a cushy feel to them, almost bouncy. The ascended the staircase for a minute or so and finally came out onto a landing that was by comparison, flooded by light.

They had reached the top of the wooden keep. Jon stared out in wonder over the small town down around the base of the keep. He could see in all directions, the floating wooden town a small bastion of human life struggling to the keep the darkness of the swamp at bay.

Howland shut the trapdoor that they had climbed through behind them and motioned for Jon to sit in one of the chairs that was resting on top of the tower.

“Here we are away from prying eyes or listening ears. No one can hear the seemingly important matter you have to discuss.”

Jon struggled with where to begin.

“You alongside Robert were one of my Ned’s closest friends, were you not?”

Howland nodded affirming what Jon already knew to be true.

“You fought side by side with him during Robert’s Rebellion. Tell me again how you two met.”

“It was your sisters doing,” Howland smiled sadly. “She helped me in my hour of need and then introduced me to your father and his brothers. We met at the Tournament at Harrenhal. She was young, beautiful and full of life. Your father was kind and quiet, yet already possessed a noble spirit.”

“The very tournament where Rheagar won the day and then crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“The same one indeed.”

“The same one where shortly thereafter, Lyanna was kidnapped by Rhaegar which led directly to Robert’s Rebellion and Lyanna’s death.”

Howland narrowed his eyes at this, “What are you getting at Jon?”

Jon continued adjusting his approach, “What do you think the nature of her disappearance was? I have heard the stories, but to hear it from one who was there and close to her at the time would bear more weight.”

Howland looked cautiously at Jon,” She was always a wild one you know. Full of spirit, unwilling to let anyone dictate her life. When she went missing at first, we thought she was just off on her own as she was want to do from time to time. We didn’t begin to suspect something was wrong until days later when she still hadn’t returned. Finally word got out that not only was she missing, she was presumed kidnapped by Rhaegar.”

“And do you believe she was indeed kidnapped?”

Howland hesitated before continuing, “Women were drawn to Rhaegar in many ways there is no doubt about that. I thought Lyanna above his charms until I saw her weeping openly while he sang a sad but beautiful song during the feast at Harrenhal. Rheagar always did fancy the harp over the sword… And when he won the tournament…”

“What of Rhaegar. From what you knew of him, was he someone capable of doing this?”

“Capable yes, he was the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. He could do as he pleased. Yet was it his style?”

Howland paused, “I thought we were here to talk about your father?”

Jon replied softly looking out over the swamp, “We are talking about my father.”

Jon caught a brief look of surprise flit across the crannogmen’s face before it was replaced once again by calm, “What do you mean Jon? You haven’t asked me a single question about Ned.”

“Ned was not my father but you already knew that, didn’t you Lord Reed. You were there the day I was born.”

Howland’s face blanched white at that.  Jon continued, “And Lyanna was not my aunt she was in fact my mother. Ned never fathered a child away from Catelyn. I am not his bastard child, I am Rhaegar’s. A Targaryen not a Stark.”

“How can you know this?” Howland spoke with a suddenly shaky voice.

“My brother Bran. You know, the one you sent your children off to protect. It turns out he is no ordinary boy. Although I suspect you knew that from the beginning. He told me of my true parentage. The only one brave enough to tell me the truth. And he is but a boy. He also told me you were there the day I was born, so here I am ready for answers. And I am not leaving until I have them.”

Jon had grown animatedly while speaking and was now up pacing back in forth across the wooden keep. The smell of food cooking was wafting up from below but Jon ignored his growling stomach determined to get the answers he had been waiting for his entire life.

Howland sighed, “I guess my oath to Ned no longer applies. It was not I who told you, and besides keeping you in the dark any longer will only serve to put you in more danger. I will tell you what I know.”

“The truth this time?”

Howland nodded back, “The truth as I know it. At some point during the Tournament at Harrenhal, your aunt became enamored with Rhaegar. She did well to hide it, most could not tell but I am slightly more perceptive than most. A lingering gaze, a sudden attentiveness whenever anyone mentioned his name. The signs were there, you just had to look close enough to see them.”

“And Rhaegar returned these feelings?”

“Returned them? He not only became infatuated with her, he displayed his emotions on his sleeve for the whole world to see when he won the tournament. It was only then that many began to wonder about the two. Yet she was engaged to Robert, and the Prince was married to the wife of his children. No one thought anything would come of it.”

“Until her disappearance.”

“Until her disappearance,” Howland continued. “Brandon and Robert instantly howled betrayal and accused Rheagar of kidnapping her and the rest…well you know the rest of the story.”

Jon stopped his pacing, “I know the story as Robert told it. The truth is always what the victor makes of it. What really happened?”

“I spent many years looking for that very answer. After your mother’s death and your birth. Ned swore me to secrecy but tasked me with confirming the truth. He could not go around asking questions about the circumstances of Lyanna’s disappearance. That would raise questions. But me, well I have lived my whole life in the shadows. And I have certain…skills that made me well suited to the task. So under the pretense of hiding here at Greywater Watch, I set about uncovering the truth.”

_He kept my mother’s secret safe all these years. All the suffering he endured at my expense to protect me. He may not be my father, but he acted better than any man for my sake._

“Ned knew that if Robert discovered the truth about your father, he would kill you. His hatred of the Targaryen’s burned far brighter than his love for Lyanna ever did. So in the shadows I worked. I learned more about Rhaegar than any other man alive. He was a man driven by destiny, driven by some unseen force. He was a master of whatever he put his mind to.”

“You said he favored the harp more than the sword? If this is true, what drove him to become the great warrior he was?”

“At some point in his life, Rhaegar decided he would have to become a warrior. He was a bookish lad at a young age. He was said to of told Ser Willem Darry one day that he would require a sword and armor. He had to become a warrior. I was able to track down letters sequestered away in some corner of the Citadel between him and the maesters there. He requested all of the information that could be had regarding the Prince that was Promised.”

“The Prince that was Promised?”

“A prophesized leader, foretold to arise to deliver the world from darkness.”

“And Rheagar believed he was the Prince that was Promised?”

“Rheagar believed…Rheagar believed that for a time…But at some point, I believe something changed his mind. While searching for information regarding the Prince that was Promised, he discovered also The Song of Ice and Fire and its direct connection to the Prince that was Promised. He became obsessed with this prophecy and when he met your mother…I believe he thought it fate that the two of them should be together.”

Jon sat down in shock, amazed that he could still feel that emotion at this point, “So that is why his most trusted friends were there defending my mother. Not only was his child being born, he thought that child was the culmination of the prophecy.”

Jon’s eyes went wide, “He thought that I was this person?!”

“Indeed I believe he did,” Howland nodded gravely.

“But how, how can I be all this. I can’t be this Prince that was Promised!”

“And why not?” Howland replied. “I may not be as strong as your cousin Bran, but I have the Sight as well. I have seen some of what you have endured. What you have lost. Yet here you are. You have rallied the entire North, saved many of your people, and find yourself the King of the North. You have faced the White Walkers and lived to tell the tale. If the Prophecy is indeed true, I can think of no better man.”

 Jon went silent at his praise.

_This is all going to take a while to sink in._

“Bran mentioned something of the same to me during our brief time together at Winterfell. He spoke of a weapon that could be used to defeat the White Walkers. Do you know if Rheagar ever searched for this weapon?”

“He did indeed. The prophecy states that a hero would wield a mighty sword against the forces of darkness. I believe this is what drove him to become a warrior. He felt it was his destiny. He searched everywhere for the weapon but never found it to the best of my knowledge.”

Jon’s shoulders slumped at that.

_Again, every answer I find only leads to more questions, more unsolved mysteries._

“Did you tell Ned everything you have told me here today?”

“I did not. He only requested confirmation of Lyanna’s last words, and that I provided him. He bid me keep the rest to myself. Just knowing that his part in the rebellion helped bring about the death of your mother and father was almost enough to break him. He remained in the North keeping you safe your entire life, and his friendship with Robert was never the same.”

_All those who have died to protect me. Not only my family, but my true brothers of the Nights Watch and those men of the North Loyal to me. These men deserve someone like Ned._

“I thank you for sharing the truth with me here today Lord Howland. This truth is something I will hold close to my heart. I can no longer be ashamed of who I am. I will embrace my past, and hope to ensure our survival. And not just the survival of the North. Winter is coming to the south, and with it the march the dead.”

With that, Jon walked over and embraced the diminutive man in a bear like hug. Howland returned the hug in like and when they pulled away, Jon noticed tears glistening in the man’s eyes.

 “If only you could have known your mother, you have her same spirit. She would be so proud.”

“I may be a dragon, but my loyalties will always lie with the wolves.”

Howland wiped a tear from his eye as he nodded, “Enough talking for one night. Let’s get some food in you. Ned’s ghost would haunt me forever if I let you shrivel away from starvation. A feast awaits us.”

Jon clapped the short man on the back with a chuckle and proceeded down the stair s while Lord Reed held the door for him. Despite everything he had learned this day, a feeling of weightlessness settled over Jon. Knowing the truth lifted the dark clouds that had been hovering over him for as long as he could remember. And despite everything that was wrong in the world raging around him, for the rest of the evening at least, he was at peace.

\------

His time spent at Greywater Watch was short. He was keen to get back on the road and rejoin the rest of the people in exile from the North, one person in particular. He was yet unsure if he should confess the whole truth to Sansa. This was one secret he was not yet willing to share with anyone. Yet one thing was sure, he had spent too much time apart from her and desired her presence once again. He spoke with Howland several more times, the Lord of Greywater Watch filling him in on gaps in Jon’s knowledge of the past and more about his mother and father.

They also discussed the danger the Neck would soon face. Jon urged the Lord to take his people and come with him. Howland declined arguing that it was his people’s duty to protect the Neck. As much from an enemy from the North as an invading army from the south.  Meera decided to stay behind with her father, a move that Jon could not begrudge her. She was finally home again, and Jon more than anyone could remember what that felt like. She led them out of the swamp after Jon and Howland exchanged an emotional farewell.

Finally, after days more of traveling south at a hard pace. The Twins appeared hovering in the distance. Jon’s heart tightened and his chest seemed to close off as they drew near. But once they drew closer, he noticed Stark colors flying in the wind. The feeling of dread slipped away.

_Sansa did it! She opened the Twins for us!_

They rode for the gatehouse of the castle on the east side. A figure appeared on top of the gatehouse watching them draw closer. His heart filled with joy as he recognized who it was. Sansa stood atop the wall waiting to greet them. Her hair was bright red set against the sun and she appeared like a beacon of fire drawing him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Jon finally is finding out the truth! Now what will he choose to do with it? I really hope we meet Howland on the book/show and I can't wait for this moment to play out for real. Very exciting. This concludes the Stark mini arc that has been going on. I feel like there is a battle we should be getting to soon...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to King's Landing we go. Where we find our heroes and villains fighting for their lives alike...

\---Arya---

It took Arya only several hours to map out the patterns of the patrols that surrounded King’s Landing. The horse lords were keeping watch along the picket lines to ensure the forces attacking the city were not caught unaware from behind. She correctly anticipated that they would be watching for a large enemy force and not two people wondering about. So far they had been able to avoid detection.   
The Hound was surprisingly stealthy for a man of his size.

The Hound sat patiently behind her, his steady deep breaths a constant reminder of his presence. Finally they were ready to move. With nothing but a quick hand gesture to the man, Arya set off for the walls of King’s Landing not even bothering to check to see if the Hound was following her. She didn’t need her sight to confirm he was.

The walls of King’s Landing had been under constant bombardment from the Dragon Queen’s forces for days now. They were pockmarked here and there but by and large, they still stood strong. There was but one breach in the wall that had been the center of a great assault by the Targaryen army. Hundreds of soldiers from both sides lay dead in and around the breach. The defenders of the city had been successful in repelling the assault if only barely. In place of the wall, they had piled high all manner of rubble in its place in order to create some semblance of security.

The Targaryen forces had been resting for several days now in an apparent attempt to rest up before they renewed their assault on the city. Still, large flaming missiles continued to rain down on the city from the Targaryen forces encircling the city. The defenders had received no respite.

The Targaryen forces were preparing for another assault as Arya and the Hound crept closer towards the crater marked field of battle. The Gold Cloaks had their own engines of war and were not hesitant to return fire whenever they could. A loud roar arose from the horse lords arrayed on the field before the city walls. A large contingent of footmen gathered beside them but gave no audible sound other than the steady drum of their feet as they advanced on the city.

_They resemble the Faceless men with their rigid structure. Their complete disregard for death._

As fearsome as the Dothraki were, Arya found the Unsullied to be the more impressive sight. Still, now was not the time or the place to admire the fighting style of the army in front of her. She would have to time this carefully in order to avoid detection for as long as possible. She motioned for the Hound to stay close to her and they continued on their way.

They picked their way across the field, no one on the wall paying close attention to two figures advancing when there was an army numbering in the thousands doing the same. Finally, a great explosion drew Arya’s attention to the breach in the wall. The Targaryen great engines of war had focused their fire once again on this section. In return, the makeshift barrier hastily constructed by the cities defenders came crashing down and the Dothraki and Unsullied surged forward. They quickly closed the distance between them and the wall and Arya and the Hound ran to do the same.

The pair came up short under the shadow of the wall and stopped to catch their breath. Arya waited to the count of thirty and then they continued, inching their way along the wall towards the breach, the din of battle growing louder as they drew near.

As they approached, the situation came into focus. The Unsullied were forced to fight uphill through the rubble, putting them at a disadvantage. The Dothraki were unable to use their mounts to any advantage until the rubble could be cleared and so mostly they milled around at the base of the wall firing arrows at any brave enough to pop their heads over the top of the wall.

Flights of arrows came from inside the city. The Unsullied and Gold Cloaks died alike, the arrows not discriminating amongst their targets. Finally, Arya was close enough that she could make out the faces of the men doing battle. A member of the Gold Cloaks took one look at her and charged forward brandishing a wicked looking blade. She deftly ducked under his wild swing and buried Needle in the back of his spine.

The man went down like a sack of flour but she was already moving on to the next. Another man noticed her kill his comrade and advanced more cautiously than the first. He possessed a long wooden spear with a rusty tip on the end covered in blood. He jabbed tentatively at her and she easily pirouetted past his feeble attempt.

With his attention focused on her, he never even saw the killing blow approach him from behind. The Hound had found a great battle axe lying on the field abandoned and his blow buried itself in the top of the man’s head splitting it in two like a log. The Hound grunted, abandoned his weapon still stuck in the dead man, and picked up the spear the man had been wielding.

Together the two fought their way up the rubble and reached the top. The Unsullied were close behind but they were entering the teeth of the defense now. Instead of trying to engage the entirety of the cities defenders, something Arya was sure the Hound was up for, they made their way for a broken down staircase that had once led to the top of the wall. They hid in the bottom of the stairwell waiting for the Targaryen forces to catch up.

Finally, the Unsullied reached the top of the rubble, gaining the upper hand. Arya and the Hound slipped away out of the stairwell and into the city. Several Gold Cloaks took notice of this but none had time to give chase. They had more pressing matters to attend to. Arya led the Hound down an all but abandoned alleyway.

They had entered the city from the western wall, and so Arya used the great Dragonpit which dominated the skyline to gain her sense of direction down in the bowels of the city. They continued east, heading south of the Dragonpit. They passed the Street of the Sisters. Flea Bottom was to their left, the slums eerily quiet. The buildings gave off the appearance of being abandoned, several crushed by debris that had made its way too far into the city.

The Hound grunted behind her and Arya stopped. Ahead of them a column of men decked out in Lannister red were marching quickly towards the wall from where they had just arrived. Arya pressed herself against the dingy dark wall of the alleyway and the Hound did the same as the men marched by double time unaware of the two invaders loose in their city.

The men passed after a brief couple of seconds and the pair was free to once again continue on their way. Arya looked south now checking for where she remembered the Great Sept of Baelor to have been located. Where it once stood, there was now nothing remaining except for an empty space, filled with the ruined remains of the once splendid structure.

_Good riddance, I would have pulled that house of opulence down brick by brick myself if I could have._

Her time spent in the city years ago had begun to grow hazy but the image of her father on those steps years ago would forever be ingrained in her memory.

_Joffrey may have given the order, but it was that damn mute that did the deed._

It was him she now sought.

_Cersei’s time will come. But right now, there is someone else I need to attend to._

She spared a brief glance at the Hound as they stopped once again to gather their bearings and ensure they were headed in the right direction. She could only guess what the man was thinking, but she was fairly certain his thoughts aligned with her own.

_He has come this far for only one reason._

She had kept him alive was because their interests had aligned, if only for the time being. And although she would never admit it, she had missed their witty banter. Still, she had no reservations about what she would have to do when the time came.

_He may not be my enemy this moment, but the North remembers._

She made up her mind about the best path to take. They chose a path that ran parallel to the great street leading up to the Red Keep. This path was narrow and wound off in random tangents but was not heavily traveled by Lannister men or any Gold Cloaks. Indeed the only people they saw out and about was a pair of dirty kids, seemingly oblivious to the hell going on around them. The two boys were chasing a rat down the street, no doubt in an attempt to secure their supper. Arya nodded sadly and continued on.

Finally, they reached the base of the Aegon’s Hill.

_One final hill. One final obstacle and then justice will have been served for my family._

She shared one final grim look at the Hound who returned it in kind. Together the two began their careful ascent up the hill. Two broken souls, going to do the only thing they had ever been good at.

\---Jaime---

“Hold the line! Hold the Line!” Jaime shouted above the roar of the battle not knowing whether any of his commands were even heard. Nevertheless, his men were doing what he asked of them. The Unsullied had broken through the breach after several hours of vicious fighting and the Dothraki had followed behind them closely ready to break through into the city. Had they done this, the city would have been lost for good.

Instead, Jaime had pulled every Lannister man together he could muster and together they had marched for the breach, plugging the hole just at the last second possible. The fresh legs of the reinforcements gave the Gold Cloaks new life and together they pushed the Unsullied back preventing them from entering the city and overwhelming its defenders.

Jaime was in the thick of things, right in the middle of the thin line of red. Bronn was off somewhere down the line cursing and bellowing away urging the Lannister men to keep fighting. They didn’t need much encouragement. Everyone in the city was afraid of what would happen should the Targaryen forces break through.

Despite their recent loss of ground, the Unsullied were unwilling to call it a day just yet. At some unheard command, their lines leapt forward again closing the ground between the two sides with alarming speed. Jaime braced for the impact crouching behind the Lannister shield wall. Someone had tried to convince him to don a shield on his off hand. They had offered to strap it straight to his arm but he had refused outright. He needed to be mobile today and a shield would only slow him down.

The Unsullied crashed into the shield wall, spears straight out skewering his men up and down the line. In response, his men open the shield wall for the briefest of moments allowing the auxiliary units stationed behind the line to let loose a withering volley of barbed arrows which tore through the ranks of the poorly armored Unsullied. They droped like cattle brought to slaughter but still they advanced seemingly unfazed.

They closed with their lethal short swords now, hacking and bashing at the shield wall giving his men no respite. Lannister men fell down the line to the precise blows and he could tell his men were reaching the breaking point once again. 

One of the Unsullied came at him where he was standing behind the line. He moved forward to meet the man and from behind the shield wall, thrust his sword forward just as the man slammed into the wall. His sword sunk deep into flesh and bone scoring a direct hit.

_Not as graceful as I once was but I can still get the job done._

He quickly unsheathed his sword from the fallen warrior and stepped back from the front of the line. He decided it was time for Plan B. He waved a signal at one of the soldiers carrying a large flag standing back behind him almost into the city. In response the man began waving the flag vigorously. The sound of trumpets filled the air and slowly, the Lannister forces began to fall back slightly. They continued their retreat, cautiously so as not to allow the Unsullied to gain much ground quickly.

Just when he thought his plan might have failed, he saw several shadows blot the sun out overhead. A brief moment of panic was replaced be relief when he saw what was causing the darkness. Large projectiles rained out of the sky coming from the city walls hammering the breach and the wall surrounding it. The impact of these projectiles sent shards of rock flying with deadly velocity ripping through the Unsullied and Dothraki trying to plunge through the hole in the wall.

Men and horses died by the hundreds to the large rocks falling from the sky. Several missed their mark and fell amongst his men as well but he knew the risk when he had given the order. The Unsullied had given up on their attack for the time being; even they were not willing to risk the sure death falling from the sky.

_For once it is not us fearing the shadows from above._

Bronn approached him with a bloody smile on his face looking happy with himself.

“Bloody brilliant Kingslayer. Reconfiguring those catapults to fire on our own wall was a stroke of genius. The bastards are running scared for their mamas.”

“Aye, it seems we have held them for today. But that breech isn’t closing itself anytime soon. And we lost far too many men here today. Who will there be to reinforce us once we can no longer carry on?”

“That is a problem for another day. Just be happy you are still alive to enjoy the rest of this one.”

Jaime flexed his hand instinctively, “I suppose you are right. We best go about setting up what defense we can here to hold them back. This trick of ours won’t keep them at bay for long.”

The breach was slick with blood as they climbed for the top. Several times Bronn lost his footing and went down cursing. Jaime placed his steps a little more carefully and finally made it to the top. The dead lay strewn about in every direction. The retreating Targaryen forces could be seen in the distance heading back to their camps to nurse their wounded.

“Set a line here. I want rubble piled as high as a man’s chest,” Jaime motioned in both directions in line with the wall.

_The breach has grown large. Another risk of firing on our own walls._

His men set about the work with tired determination.

“Bronn gather some men and head into the city. I want you to recruit every able bodied hand you can to help finish these defenses. I want our defenses back up by the end of the night.”

Bronn nodded and gruffly began calling out names to follow him into the city. Jaime took one last look outside the city walls and decided he had had enough of this wretched corner of the city for one day. He handed over command of the position to a senior Lannister commander and headed back down the pile of rubble.

\------

The door to her chamber was shut as per usual, her giant hulking bodyguard staring passively looking straight ahead. He barely even registered Jaime’s presence and did nothing to bar his entrance. Jamie opened and shut the door behind him, his eyes taking a while to adjust to the dimness of the room. He finally found her looking out of a window that overlooked the bay. She had nothing more than a shift on covering her body and the curtains danced around her as if alive.

He walked over to stand by her side saying nothing. She was staring down at the conflict playing out on the water. For days now, the two navies had bene engaging in a slugfest. A war of attrition. Neither side gaining any ground. Euron’s fleet was unable to push the Targaryen navy out of the bay, but neither was Yara able to break through and provide assistance assaulting the city.

Cersei stood there still as a statue and Jaime wondered off hand how long she had been standing like that.

Cersei mumbled something incoherently.

“What was that?” Jaime leaned in closer trying to pick up what she was saying.

“…She was right. She didn’t last the night.”

“Cersei what are you talking about?”

“She wanted you,” Cersei replied turning towards him fear in her eyes. “I couldn’t let her have you.”

“Who Cersei? Who are you talking about?”

 “It doesn’t matter now,” she responded turning away. “What’s done is done.”

Jaime decided not to press the matter any further. Cersei had only continued to grow more distant as the siege of King’s Landing continued. She didn’t eat, she barely slept and when she did it was in fitful bouts. She did nothing but stare out the window and drink. Even that she had seemed to give up on in recent days. She cared more for her brief updates that Qyburn provided her with daily than she did spending time with him.

Frankly he was sick and tired of it and would have called her out on it if not for the constant threat of battle hovering over their heads. He had more important matters to concern himself with than starting some fight that would only cause her to blow up and resent her even more. And so he suffered in silence, trying to provide support whenever and wherever he could. He even tried to tolerate Qyburn for her sake.

He had no love for the man. He reminded him of Littlefinger in many ways, although not nearly as polished and refined as the little man had been. He wondered briefly what plots Lord Baelish was up to at the moment providing he was still alive before deciding he didn’t care enough to waste more than a seconds thought on the man.

Finally he pulled Cersei’s worryingly frail frame away from the window and into bed. He pulled the covers up around her shivering shoulders and tucked her into bed. He discarded what armor he still wore and set his sword aside. Finally he climbed into bed beside her, utterly drained from the day spent fighting throughout the city. It was not long before he was fast asleep.

\------

He awoke to Cersei whimpering beside him. She was writhing beneath the covers, clawing at thin air as if being smothered. She was sweating profusely and her shoulder length hair stuck to her skin in clumps. Her eyes were shut; she appeared to still be asleep dreaming.

She called out in her sleep, “Valonqar…Valonqar!”

_What now??_

He tried to reach over to wake her from whatever nightmare she was trapped in but she swiped at him with her arm driving him back out of reach.

“Not Jaime!...I don’t want to know!”

Tears were falling down her cheeks now but still she was locked in sleeps embrace.

“She can’t have it!” she snarled now through clenched teeth. “It is mine!”

Jaime had enough, “Cersei wake up!”

He darted past her defenses and wrapped his arms tightly around her flailing limbs waking her. She looked around the room gathering her senses before finally resting her gaze on his face. She was silent for a moment before a dam seemed to break.

“I’m so sorry Jaime. Sorry for everything!”

She held him tight and sobs wracked her weak body. Jaime returned her grip in like, determined to never let her go.

“Shhhh. Shhhh. Don’t worry. There is nothing to be sorry for. I’m here now. It was just a dream.”

She pulled away from him for a moment at that and he reached but failed to prevent her from doing so.

“That’s what I thought at first as well…” She rambled through half crazed eyes. “But now…”

Some life seemed to return to her eyes and the fiery gaze that he loved so much return.

“She won’t take me alive Jaime. Not after everything I have given up, everything I have sacrificed.”

Her words troubled him but he pulled her closer still, “Don’t concern yourself with that tonight. Sleep now. I’ll stay awake and keep watch.”

She said nothing in return but nodded and the two laid back down on the bed again, Cersei resting her head on his chest her breathing slowly returning to normal. Finally it slowed further still and Jaime knew she had once again fallen asleep. He was true to his word and kept his silent vigil throughout the rest of the night.

\------

Morning came, and with it a new day and a new set of challenges entirely. Jaime rose early, ensuring that his movement did not disturb Cersei from her slumber. He dressed and headed out of her chambers on a mission to find Bronn and get an update on the situation of the city. He passed the immovable bodyguard who hadn’t moved a muscle since the night before. He nodded out of habit to the man absentmindedly and felt foolish as he did. He never received so much as the slightest nod back in recognition.

_Whatever Qyburn did, I definitely hope to never find out._

He headed down and away from Cersei’s chambers and that is when he heard it. Alarm bells ringing in the distance.

_So soon? The sun has barely risen. I thought we would have more time than this…_

He made haste for the barracks where he assumed Bronn had crashed for the night but he did not find the man in his quarters. He was about to head to the brothels where he was sure he would find the man instead when Bronn came running down an alley way back towards the barracks and pulled up short at the sight of Jaime.

“Bronn what is?”

Bronn gathered his breath, “She comes. Her entire army is fielded and she has taken to the sky.”

Jaime’s eyes darkened.

_This is going to be a long day._

“Are the city ballistae ready?” he questioned.

“They are my Lord.”

_That was odd. He never pays me respect. He must be frightened indeed._

So far, Daenerys had yet to try assaulting the city with her dragons. Perhaps she had gotten wind of the extra installations Jaime had ordered to be installed on the city walls in anticipation of her arrival. So far they had not been tested but today it looked like judgement would be passed.

He shrugged his shoulders and headed down the road making quickly for the nearest tower.

_We will find out today one way or another. There is nothing to be done now. Whatever gods are out there, let us hope they are on our side this day._

\---Daenerys---

Daenerys shouted in angry as she watched her army fleeing the city walls, repulsed once again by the defenders of the city. This time, they had gone so far as to fire on their own walls although she could not argue with the results. Her men were once again beaten back by defenders they found far more resilient than they had anticipated.

Tyrion winced beside her as she vented her anger and Varys sat impassively behind her gazing over the scene playing out before him.

“What wisdom would my council give now?” she asked mockingly to the two of them. “We have tried it your way. We hit their walls with everything we have and still they stand before us mocking.”

“Your Grace,” Varys began. “They cannot hope to hold out much longer. The city must be starving and by now, their men are in even worse shape than our own. I would caution patience. The city will fall.”

“Patience? Patience! I have waited my entire life for this and now when it is within my grasp you urge patience! My men die by the hundreds, nay thousands. At this rate I will not have an army to hold the Seven Kingdoms even if I win here!”

Tyrion spoke up trying to head off her fury, “My Queen. Vary is right. We still have the upper hand here. Reports are coming in that Casterly Rock is ready to fall as well. With the east under our control we have nothing to fear once we take the city.”

“And what of the North? Any word from the boy?”

“None yet your Grace. Yet he would be foolish to turn down your most generous offer.”

Daenerys looked at Varys as he spoke and fell silent at that.

_Foolish indeed. What I am prepared to offer, most men would fight and die for it. Many indeed have already._

“Nevertheless,” she continued once again. “I would pursue a different course of action in regards to our next attack. All out this time. Hold nothing in reserve. If we have no external threats to fear like you so boldly proclaim, then we hold nothing in reserve.”

Tyrion began to protest but she cut him off, “And I along with my children shall join the fray.”

This drew sputters from Tyrion as he tried to find his words, “Your Grace you cannot. The city defenses are still strong. They had time to prepare for your coming. The stories of your dragons spread far ahead of you and I am sure they did not waste that time.”

“The time for second guessing is over,” she proclaimed with authority. “The throne is mine by right. And I will have it even if I have to burn the Great Hall down around it!”

“Besides,” she continued with a more even tone of voice. “The cities defenses have been softened up by our own attacks. Even if they had a plan to stop me at one point, it is most likely useless at this point.”

A look of concern passed between Varys and Tyrion yet neither dared to continue to try and change her mind.

“Come,” she gestured to Missandei. “I would have you see to me tonight. First thing tomorrow, it begins.”

\------

They took to the sky early in the morning just after the sun had risen. The air was crisp and clean and carried the promise of winter on its touch. Together, she and her three children, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion flew towards the city lazily, like clouds floating on the wind. Below her, she could see King’s Landing and its defenses spread out before her. Her army was massed to the west of the city and the south, ready for the assault to begin. Finally she urged her mount into a steep dive, the signal to begin the attack and her army surged forward on the ground preceded by artillery fire from her engines of war stationed below.

She watched as the missiles sailed by her underneath, impacting against the city walls with puffs of dust followed by large blasts that reached her seconds later. The walls seemed to visibly shake but held their shape. Her trebuchets went silent, so as to avoid hitting her and the dragons as they flew ever downward. On the ground, her army was drawing fire from the city but she no longer had time to concentrate on them. The city rushed up to greet her.

Her dragons bathed a portion of the wall in dragon fire as they did a passing sweep and she was rewarded with the screams of the city defenders. Some jumped off the wall rather than suffering death by fire. She urged Drogon upwards out of any danger and his siblings followed.

Something flew by her ear with whoosh and she watched the object continue to sail upwards in the sky before reaching its apex and falling back down towards the earth. She watched it pass again going down and got a full view of the projectile. It was a long wooden spear, twice a man’s height in length and as thick as a man’s forearm. On the end was a large metal barb that caused Daenerys to gulp in fear.

Several more flew by before they were safely out of range. She scanned once more the situation. It seemed the city defenses were more potent then she thought and they indeed were ready for her. Out in the bay, the two navies were once again at it, hammering away at one another determined to grind each other into nothing.

She quickly made up her mind and headed towards the bay away from the city. Still the cities defenses tracked her as she headed out over the bay. Angry bolts continued to buzz by them as the dragons swooped down on the unsuspecting Ironborn. The ships were lit up by the conflagration which ripped through them destroying many rapidly. Yara quickly used the distraction and pressed her advantage forward careful to stay just out of range of the fire but pressing Euron’s navy in on itself.

_Smart girl. Force them all to burn together._

The tide had turned in Yara’s favor and so her work here was done. She was worried for the safety of her children flying close over the wall but her army needed her as well. Now was not the time to show fear. She flew high once again over the city before diving downwards, Drogon twisting in a spiral to make himself a more difficult target. Daenerys struggled to hold on, gripping tight with her legs to avoid being thrown off into the air.

The ploy seemed to work. The men in the towers trying to bring them down were unable to properly predict their trajectory and so there attempts to bring the dragons from the sky were for naught. Drogon flew low over the wall ignoring archers attempting to bring him down as well. Drogon stopped suddenly in front of a large stone tower, the blasts from his strong wings shaking the air with concussive force. He bathed the tower with a continuous stream of fire forcing the defenders to leave their engines of war unattended. The stones seemed to glow red hot from the fire.

Rhaegal and Viserion were busy causing havoc elsewhere and Drogon turned around to find them. Her Unsullied seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Up and down the walls, giant siege towers were being rolled into place, and the breech in the wall was under heavy assault from the Dothraki and Unsullied working in unison. The Lannister forces and Gold Cloaks were stretched thin trying to defend the two pronged attacked. Her dragons caused chaos wherever they went giving a much needed respite to her men on the ground.

Suddenly, her men broke through the breach in the wall. Her Unsullied surged forward chasing King’s Landing’s defenders back into the city. The Dothraki’s howls of triumph rose to the heavens and she smiled with joy. A bolt loosed from one of the remaining manned towers caught her eye as it hurtled upwards at her. She urged Drogon to dive quickly and he obeyed her command, the missile flying over her head barely missing them. Rhaegal behind them was not so lucky.

Her child screamed in pain as the bolt took him in the side. The creature emitted a cry so shrill, Daenerys thought her eardrums would burst. Drogon and Viserion roared loudly as if they shared their sibling’s pain. Rhaegal struggled to maintain his altitude but could not. The beat of his wings became labored and he slowly began to fall. Tears welled up in her eyes but were instantly wicked away by the air as they speed downwards towards her falling child. Finally, Drogon and Viserion grabbed hold of their struggling sibling and helped slow his descent to the earth.

They set him gently to the ground and Daenerys instantly dismounted and rushed to his side. In the background, the Unsullied were now swarming over the walls of the city and fires had broken out inside the city walls. Still, nothing mattered now but ensuring Rhaegal would survive.

She ran to inspect the damage and shuddered at the thought of the pain he must be in. She heard a commotion and turned to see Drogon snarling at riders approaching from where she had been encamped. She recognized Tyrion among them looking worried and she shouted at him, “Bring every maester you can find. Every healer here. Do it now!”

Tyrion took one look between her and the wounded dragon and went to do her bidding. Daenerys returned her attention to Rhaegal who was now whimpering in pain. She placed her head in sorrow on his great scaly side that was now dripping with dragon blood, large droplets pooling on the ground. She closed her eyes, willing Rhaegal to stay with her, and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two is gonna be a doozy folks...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in boys and girls...

\---Arya---

Arya trotted down the hallway softly, the Hound followed closely by her side. The pair had donned disguises to avoid drawing attention. The Hound had acquired a Lannister suit of armor that was big enough to suit his frame and proceeded to squeeze into it. Arya had found a different face altogether and now resembled a serving boy.

The Hound had cursed and muttered something about witchcraft and girls sticking their noses in places where they didn’t belong when he first saw her new visage, but had otherwise asked no questions about her strange ability. It was probably better that way. Arya had neither the time nor the inclination to explain herself.

They passed several guards running here and there, although Arya could not tell if they were fleeing or heading towards the conflict that had broken out in the city. The Targaryen forces had broken through into the city, that much was certain. Whether or not they could finish the job and subdue the city properly for their queen was another matter. From what Arya could tell before her view was obstructed by the walls of the Red Keep as they slipped inside, the city defenders continued to fight.

Screams echoed from the city and the smell of burning flesh wafted up and brushed against her nostrils unpleasantly from time to time. Birds circled overhead waiting to eat their fill on the carrion that now filled the inside of the city, the same as without.

Servants fled too in terror, not pausing to give the unlikely duo a second glance. Finally Arya was able to stop one of them long enough to ask for directions to Ilyn Payne’s quarters. This was where they were now headed.

They approached the door; apprehension growing in Arya’s every step. The wooden door appeared to be unbolted and after a silent countdown, the Hound burst through the door and Arya darted in behind him. There was no one inside. The room was sparsely furnished, nothing more than a simple bed and nightstand alongside a few humble possessions. Arya bit back her angry and growing impatience and forced herself to remain calm.

_He is close. I can feel it._

Something propped up against the wall caught the Hound’s attention and he was now moving towards it. He picked up a large sword in a simple sheath. He pulled the blade to inspect it and Arya noted it was slightly dull around the edges. It was plain and unadorned.

_Must be a practice sword. It looks as though it has seen better days…_

Still, the Hound grunted his approval and strapped the sword over his shoulder, the only way the blade could be worn without it trailing on the ground behind him. Arya swept the room one more time before deciding it was time to move on.

Together they left the room closing the door behind them as they went.

“We have to find Cersei. Wherever she is, Ilyn is sure to be. Your brother as well.”

The Hound said nothing and Arya took his silence as compliance. She headed away from Ilyn’s room in search of Cersei’s quarters. They quickly found themselves outside of Maegor’s Holdfast which traditionally housed the King, or in this case, the Queen. Arya gazed up at the structure displayed before her.

The holdfast sat behind walls twelve feet thick. A dry moat lined with a bed of formidable iron spikes surrounded the walls with a drawbridge spanning the moat. The only entrance in or out of Maegor’s Holdfast was the drawbridge. Arya surmised that the drawbridge was usually guarded but with the events that were now still playing out in the city, any such guard had long since disappeared.

Without a second’s hesitation, Arya continued forward across the drawbridge and through the solid stone walls. Arya looked around once inside and headed in the direction that she assumed would lead her to Cersei’s quarters. Her guess was not in vain. She arrived at a large wooden door. There was no one outside so she let herself in with the Hound bringing up the rear.

The interior of the room was dark and something in the air stung her eyes. The two large twin hearths at the end of the room were smoldering, and smoke from a long dead fire hung in the room. A rancid smell hit her nostrils and her stomach threatened to spill its contents. The Hound took the scene in seemingly unfazed. Curtains were haphazardly left opon or shut in no discernable manner. The large royal bed was a mess, sheets rumpled up in a ball in the corner, sheets coming off the mattress. Wine stains covered the floor and even the bed as well.

Arya made for one of the open curtains that led out to a small balcony. The balcony gave her an unobstructed view of the harbor. A great battle had taken place on the water. It appeared to be over, a great many ships either burning or half way sinking into the water looking for their watery graves. She could not tell who had been victorious; she was no expert in the styles of war vessels dotting the horizon. She turned away from the edge of the balcony again unsatisfied with what she had found.

The Hound was sitting on a chair in the room drinking out of an ornate goblet.

“Enjoying ourselves are we?”

He ignored her and continued to finish the contents of the glass.

“Just resting my legs a bit while you stand outside wasting our time.”

“It’s fine,” Arya retorted, “You can admit all this walking has an old man like yourself tired out.”

The Hound shot her a look of derision before tossing the goblet across the room and rising from his seated position.

He bowed mockingly to her, “Are you ready to go now your royal Highness?”

Arya guffawed, waved her had in his general direction in dismissal and headed quickly for the door.

_I can’t stand another second in this room. What state must she be in if Cersei is willing to live like this?_

She shook thoughts of the Queen’s mental state away; it would matter little anyways by the end of the day.

“There is one other place they must be.”

\------

They arrived at the Great Hall. The Hall’s great oak and bronze doors were wide opening inviting any and all comers to march right in the room unopposed. The Hall was cavernous, a fact only magnified by its currently empty state. It was oriented north and south, with high narrow windows on the eastern and western walls. There was no direct sunlight pouring through these windows due to the time of day but the hall was still well lit by ambient light as well as great torches that hung at equidistant intervals throughout the structure. Hunting tapestries hung on the walls depicting various conquests between the windows.

At the end of the Hall, a small gathering of people were standing around in hushed silence. As Arya approached, she noticed Lannister guards were posted at the end of the hall as well. They stood before the large raised iron dais that had high, narrow steps leading up to what Arya had been looking for. The Iron Throne sat atop the dais and upon it sat the Queen herself, Cersei Lannister. Hatred coursed through her veins and she had to remind herself to stay the course.

The two walked double file headed towards the end of the Hall, walking on a long carpet that stretched from the doors all the way to the foot of the Iron Throne. People had begun to notice their approach and turn in their direction but had yet to raise an alarm. Their subterfuge granted them anonymity, at least until someone looked closer.

Arya gritted her teeth as she noticed who was standing to the left of the throne. Ser Ilyn Payne stood there proudly, his gaze sweeping over the crowd and coming to rest on the newcomers. Arya maintained her calm demeanor, determined to remain undetected for as long as possible. To the right of the Queen stood a mountain of a man. She glanced briefly up at the Hound but his Lannister helmet obscured whatever emotion he must be feeling from his family reunion.

The pair stopped once they reached the crowd and Arya began to sweat in anticipation and from the general stuffiness the building afforded.

Cersei rose from the throne, “What news of my brother?” Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke.

_She thinks we are here to bring word of Jaime. She must have sent messengers searching for him._

An answer was on the tip of her tongue when the Hound spoke up instead, “We found him your grace.” He bowed ever so slightly while addressing Cersei, “He is on his way, merely minutes behind us. The city defenses hold strong.”

Cersei sat back on the throne slumped over, seemingly relieved.

_She feared the worst, let’s give it to her._

Arya had had enough of this charade. Without requesting permission from the Hound, she darted to the right into the crowd of people gathered nearby. It appeared to be made up of the rich and powerful of the city, coming to the Great Hall in search of some protection.

_Fools._

The Lannister guards looked on at the Hound in confusion and he simply shrugged his shoulders in answer. Several guards broke away from the throne and headed towards the crowd to find her. Arya weaved her way through the startled guests, careful to avoid bumping them whenever possible. The guards pushed their way through the crowds drawing  their ire and finally converged on her.

Her response was to whip out Needle that she had been hiding strapped to the inside of her back under her garments and draw the razor sharp blade along the Achilles tendon of the nearest guard approaching her.  The man screamed in pain reaching for his leg as he went down in a heap. She ignored his pitiful whimpers and focused on the task at hand.

The Hall erupted into commotion at that, the crowd fleeing in all directions, eager to get away from her as she began to engage her foe. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the Hound cut down one of the fleeing lords with his great sword, the force of the blow sending the man flying across the room. Several of the guards turned their attention away from her and began to head in his direction.

_I’d say these are even odds now. Let’s dance._

She weaved as water through the approaching soldiers. Their armor restricted their movements and hampered their swings and she was able to dance through them, dodging their clumsy attempts as she went. A cry of pain resonated behind her as friendly fire brought down one man who was not as gifted at dodging as she was. His friend stared in shock, apologizing for the errant blow and Arya took advantage of his distraction. She rolled under a blow that was meant to take her head off and came up right behind the guard who bent over the body shaking it. A quick blow to the back of his neck put him out of commission.

The guards approached her tactically now, working together to try and drive her back against the wall where they could overwhelm her. A laugh threatened to escape her as she quickly realized what they were attempting to accomplish. She let them believe they were going to succeed, letting herself get pushed backwards before bounding away at the last moment possible leaving them confused behind her as to how she had escaped their net.

The Hound was pummeling any who came near him with his blunt sword. The guards confronting him hung back in fear. His brother and Ser Ilyn had yet to join the fray, content to look stoically on from on high. She refocused her attention back to the task at hand. The guards had formed to face her once again. She waited for their now tentative strikes and then retaliated, one, two, three. Down they fell to her quick precise counters.

A commotion arose from the end of the Great Hall near the doors. Everyone in the Hall froze in place and watched as more Lannister poured into the Hall bloodied and swords drawn. Arya took one look between the reinforcements and the already present guards and decided now was the time to strike. She ignored the few remaining guards around her and broke into a sprint headed for the Iron Throne.  A humorless smile etched itself across Ser Ilyn Payne’s face as he noticed her approaching and he drew his sword turning to face her at last.

\---Jaime---

The city was lost. The only thing left up in the air was when she would be dealt her death blow. His men had fought bravely, but when the dragons took to the sky, the tide had turned. His men had cowered in fear as the shadows flew over them spewing their deadly fire wherever they went. As the spirit of his men waned, the Unsullied grew emboldened. They had surged forward capturing several of the gates and opening them for access to the outside. In had flooded the Dothraki like a tidal wave sweeping all before them and Jaime had no choice but to order his men to retreat.

They fought their way back, desperate to prevent the retreat from turning into a rout. Bronn was everywhere, fighting like a devil while Jaime stayed mostly behind the lines struggling to hold together some semblance of a defense. Fires broke out cutting him off from the other sections of the city making communication next to impossible. He eventually gave up all hope of reaching the rest of his commanders and focused all of this attention on what he could control.

Finally, his men made it back to Aegon’s Hill and the Red Keep. The Dothraki were hot in pursuit. They dashed forward refusing to engage his men peppering them with arrows before fading away out of harms range only to close again moments later. His men were dead tired, and the only thing keeping them going was the thought of how these barbarians must treat their defeated foes. The gates to the Red Keep were wide open, whatever guards had been posted had long since fled their posts leaving the doors wide open.

He urged his men back up the hill, hoping that once they were inside of the Keep, they would be able to gain a reprieve. His plan was not to be. The Unsullied pressed forward leaving the Dothraki to pillage the surrounding neighborhoods and his men were not able to gain the distance needed to close the gates behind them. The Lannister men made a stand outside one of the great bronze gates hoping to gain enough time for the gates to be closed. Their sacrifice was for nothing.

The gates were simply too big and too heavy to be closed with any pace and the Unsullied followed his men into the Red Keep.

_So this is how it felt all those years ago for the Targaryens. My father closing in, them knowing they were doomed._

His thoughts turned to Cersei then and he resolved to be with her for whatever was to come. He turned over command to Bronn who swore to keep fighting till the last and bade a small contingent of worn out men follow him to the Great Hall, where he assumed Cersei would be residing.

They arrived at the Great Hall and he was shocked to see the scene playing out before him. His men poured in around him and were greeted by a great struggle that was taking place. Dead Lannister men lay strewn about here and there, and many lords and ladies of the court crouched and huddled in corners eager to avoid any conflict.

An epic confrontation unfolded before his very eyes and the sight confused him. A large man in Lannister red fought with the even bigger Mountain. The Mountain fought with his giant mace swinging his weapon in arcs strong enough to fell small trees should he desire. His opponent was smaller but just quick enough to always evade the Mountains attacks. He fought with a giant sword that he handled with familiarity that reminded Jaime of someone he had once known.

_It can’t be him. We haven’t seen or heard from him in ages…_

He pulled his gaze free from the spectacle long enough to notice the other, even more bizarre, scene on the other side of the throne. A small boy with nothing but a slender stick, nay a weapon of some sort, was dancing circles around Ser Ilyn. The executioner looked frustrated, his armor protecting him from the young lad, but unable to land any blows in return.

Cersei sat on the throne shivering in place. The room was hot and she had broken out into a cold sweat. He ignored the conflicts playing out in the Hall and instantly went to her side. She noticed him approach and looked up.

“Jaime, is that you?” She whispered in a hoarse voice. He rushed to greet her and took her in his arms. She fell into his embrace.

“It is my love. I am here.”

“The city. Is it still ours?”

Jaime shook his head dejectedly, “It has fallen.”

She looked shocked at that, as though the notion was unthinkable. She pushed him back away from her and her anger was palpable, “Then why are you here?! You have a duty to this city, to me! The defenses must not fall!”

He stared at her shaking his head again, “It is lost. There is nothing we can do now but accept that, and hope the Targaryen girl is more gracious than we were.”

“I don’t accept that! I will not bow to her. I took this throne, it is mine!”

She was growing hysterical now and Jaime moved once again to try and calm her anger but she resisted, “Father saved us. He refused to lose the city before. Are you a coward? I can’t believe he wanted to place the entire future of our family on your shoulders! Look what I have accomplished and there you stand ready to give up.”

Jaime was dumbfounded. He tried to think of something to calm her down but every thought he had was squashed by the withering accusations she now hurled at him.

“Qyburn, is everything as I have commanded it?”

For the first time since his arrival he noticed the squat man standing to the left behind the throne. He looked up at Cersei as she addressed him with authority.

“It is your grace, everything is as you wish,” he bowed low while replying.

“Good,” Cersei smirked as she sat back down on the Iron Throne. “Let’s see how badly the bitch really wants my throne.

 Qyburn straightened up but otherwise refrained from moving. Several small children rushed to his side and then left again and Jaime grimaced at their worn appearance. Whatever they were up to, he was sure it was not good.

\---Arya---

The Kingslayers appearance had caused her to pause, if only for a brief second, but that was almost enough to be fatal. Instead her instincts kicked in and she jerked out of the incoming swords range. It missed killing her by a finger width, yet she felt her face sting and blood began dripping down her check where the tip of the blade had grazed her. Her hand went to her face in shock and the knight she was facing grinned smugly.

_You can’t afford to lose focus. He is too good for even the briefest lapse of judgment._

So far she had been unable breach the knight’s defenses. Several times she had swept under his reach only to be stymied where she attempted to slash at his midsection by his chainmail and hard leather armor.

_He wears no plate and is more nimble than those I am use to facing._

Still, chainmail offered its own unique weaknesses to go along with its advantages. The words of her half-brother rang through her skull reminding her of what she must do ‘Stick them with the pointy end.’

_Halfway around the world, provided he is even alive, and still he is looking out for me._

The thought of Jon and the rest of her family gave her new resolve.

_For father. For Robb. For mother._

The Hound was hard pressed to defend himself against his attacker. He was driven back again and again, unable to go on the offense against the seemingly untiring foe he now faced. Payne closed on her again and she cleared her mind of all unnecessary distractions. She leaped at her foe once again closing to engage him.

_Let’s finish this._

_\---_ Jaime _\---_

Jaime watched as the boy time and again fooled the veteran knight into committing to an attack, only to sweep away as though a ghost as the blow sailed harmlessly by.

_Who is this?_

Half of his men who had joined him in the Hall were now placed in defensive positions around the Throne leaving the two pairs fighting amidst the debris that now covered the floor. The other half of his men were defending the door into the Great Hall.

The Mountain was gaining the upper hand now. His mace had landed a vicious blow to the side of his mysterious opponent who was now limping around the room struggling to defend himself with a giant buckle in his armor. The fight would soon be over.

Cersei sat sulking on the throne refusing to talk or even look at him. A noise echoed down the hallway outside the Great Hall followed by shouting and Unsullied flooded through the door. His men at the doorway tensed and then engaged in combat with the new attackers. His men struggled to hold back the oncoming waves and Jaime motioned for the rest of his men defending him and Cersei  to join the defense leaving only him,  the Mountain and Ser Payne between the would be assassins and the Queen.

Cersei rose from her seated position again and motioned for Qyburn to join her by her side. She bent over and whispered something into the man’s ear, “Give the order. She sends only these pathetic creatures. They will not take me.”

The man nodded.

“What order? What is he to do?” Jaime questioned.

“What must be done. I won’t leave everything we have worked for our entire lives in the hands of another. This belongs to us Jaime! It should be ours. All of it!”

“What are you saying?! What is that he going to do?!” He shook her by the shoulders while asking the question afraid of the answer that he already knew deep down in his heart.

“The fire she seems to love so much? Let’s see how fond she is of it in the morning.”

He pushed her away at that, memories flooding back to him. The rantings of a mad king quickly coming back into focus. His belief that fire would be his savior, his purifier, his redeemer. How he had laughed until the very end, never seeing the blade coming that ushered in the end until it was too late. How he had killed the king’s own messengers to secure the survival of the city.

Qyburn was walking away from the throne, yet to give the order to be carried out by any of his little minions. Jaime was tired, so tired of everything, yet resolved to do what must be done. After all, he had saved the city once all those years ago; it would be a shame to let all that hard work go to waste now.

He drew his sword clumsily, a combination of fatigue and clumsiness creeping into his motions. Cersei gasped as he did, her eyes going wide in fright. He ignored her reaction and instead made for Qyburn. The man never saw the blade coming as he walked down the stairs. Jaime plunged his sword deep into his back right where his heart would be and the man died instantly. Jaime withdrew his sword awkwardly and let the man tumble the rest of the way down the stairs.

Cersei clapped her hands to her mouth in a mixture of horror and shock before turning angry, “What have you done?! You had no right! He was following my orders. The Queens orders! How dare you interfere?!”

“Sit down Cersei,” Jaime pointed his bloody sword advancing on her. “You are done giving orders here.”

\---Arya---

The knights movements were growing labored, his arm tiring as Arya evading his blows over and over. The man was old and clearly he did not have the stamina he once had. Still he was one of the most formidable opponents she had ever faced.

Her blows were never strong enough to fully penetrate his armor although she had analyzed his fighting style long enough to recognize his weaknesses. His armor, sturdy as it was, was not unbeatable. She just had to be smarter.

She maneuvered him until they were fighting over the long carpet that ran the length of the Great Hall. She waited for the right opportunity to strike and it just so happened that one appeared. Her back was to the Iron Throne when all of a sudden, something behind her caught the knight’s attention for just the briefest of moments causing him to lose focus. She jumped at the opening.

She ran forward straight at him catching him by surprise. He swept sideways in a great motion aiming to cut her in two but he was too late. She was already sliding under him on the blood soaked carpet earning burns on her knees in reward as his blow sailed harmlessly over his head.

As she passed under him, she thrust upward at the weak underbelly of his armor where he was least protected and was rewarded with the suction of blade sinking into flesh. Her continued motion ripped her sword from the man causing her to almost lose her grip on Needle before she slid out from under him completely.

The knight attempted to turn and face her but instead fell to his knees. Blood streaming down his legs. Arya slowly rose to her feet, her knees wobbly from the impact they had just absorbed. She slowly walked around to face the man who was the source of so much of her anger. His arms hung loose by his side, his great sword fallen from his grasp. Blood bubbled from his mute mouth and dropped down on his chin.

_They say he was a great executioner. That he never failed to deliver the killing blow in one stroke. That much he deserves at least._

Time slowed as she drew back her arm level with the man kneeling before her. She brought the blade rushing forward as images of her father flashed before her eyes. Her blade sunk deep into the middle of Ser Ilyn Payne’s throat and out through the back of his neck, killing him instantly. She let go of her blade, waiting for the flood of relief that usually came when she crossed another name off her list. Instead all she felt was loss. Loss of family, loss of innocence, and loss of identity.

Arya Stark sat down on the ground beside his dead body and cried.

\---Jaime---

Jaime watched the boy end Ser Ilyn and then sit down in a pool of his blood. His blade was still pointed at Cersei sitting on the Iron Throne although his arm was wavering from exhaustion. Qyburn was dead by his hand, and he could only hope that there was no one else out there with orders to carry out Cersei’s twisted plan.

He watched as the Mountain forced his opponent to stagger backwards. The Mountain raised a killing blow to end the struggle but somehow, the other man raised his armored arm just in time to absorb the killing blow shattering his arm in the process.

The man fell backwards against a nearby column nursing his tattered arm dropping his sword in the process. The man looked up in resignation on the Mountain advancing. Jaime watched as he removed his helmet apparently ready to meet his death face to face. Shock registered on Jaime’s face followed by recognition.

_I knew he was familiar, the Hound indeed has returned._

The shock was apparently not reserved for Jaime alone. The Mountain paused upon seeing his brother for the first time in years and lowered his weapon.

_Is there some part of Gregor still trapped in there? Does any part of him still know Sandor?_

The Hound did not waste any time in acting. He reached up above him with his good arm, and grabbed the torch that was burning right above the pair bringing it down upon the Mountain’s head. Fear shone in the Hound’s eyes, yet still he gripped the torch tightly. Whatever process had been done to the Mountain in order to extend his unnatural life, it had not granted him immunity to fire. Instead the process Qyburn had used to bring him back from the brink of death had also made his body more flammable.

The Mountain burst into flames, igniting inside his armor running around in terror. The Hound slumped to the side as Jaime looked on in horror. The Mountain bumped into the wall catching the tapestries mounted on them on fire before finally coming to a stop and keeling over on his side. Whatever magic Qyburn had worked on him was now extinguished. The Hound continued to make a wheezing noise as he struggled to breathe.

The fire that the Mountain had started began to spread. Cersei watched it, transfixed by the rising inferno. At the end of the Hall, his men had either fallen or had given themselves up to the mercy of the Unsullied. Only Jaime now remained between the Targaryen forces and his sister the Queen.

A small voice whispering behind him from the throne, “You can’t let them have me.”

“Cersei, we have no other choice.”

A deranged laugh escaped her throat, “We never had a choice. Well, you maybe, but never me.”

His look of confusion only seemed to make her laugh harder.

“Don’t you see? It was always going to come to this. For a time I thought we could escape it, but I was wrong. So wrong Jaime.”

“Whatever happens here Cersei, we can survive this together. You and me, that’s all that matters.”

He knelt in front of her, sword clattering to the ground and placed his hands in her lap. She took them in her own and looked him right in his eyes.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Take my life Jaime. Please, I will not be a trophy for her. She won’t take me alive. Please kill me.”

Jaime was speechless and Cersei continued on, “Our children are gone Jaime. Dead. All of them my fault. I played the game, and they paid the price. How is that fair? I just want to see them again…”

“I can’t-” Jaime began but Cersei cut him off.

“You promised Jaime. I’m so tired. If you don’t do this for me, I will find some other way. I want it to be you.”

He shook his head adamantly.

“Qyburn wasn’t the only you know,” she changed tactics with a sneer. “All it takes is one person still loyal to me to give the command and it will be done. Your precious city, the only good you hold to your name, gone in an instant.”

Her words rained down on him like blows and he flinched backwards.

_Would she go that far? She already did with Qyburn… The woman I loved was long ago destroyed and in her place, only hate remains._

He looked into her crazed eyes and had no doubt she was telling the truth. He slowly reached down and picked up his sword with his hand, heart and mind fighting as he did. She laughed manically, her boisterous noise filling the Great Hall with eerie echoes that pummeled Jaime over and over again.

He placed the tip of his sword over her heart and she did not shrink away, egging him on.

“Do it. Do it!”

He shut his eyes, forced himself to let go, and thrust. Blade parted flesh with no resistance and Cersei let out a gasp as the blade took her square in the chest. He yanked the blade immediately free and tossed it aside aimlessly. Blood began to leak out of her chest but he covered the wound with his hand, head bowed until their forwards were touching.

Cersei whispered up towards Jaime as he looked into her suddenly clear eyes.

“Thank you Jaime. Forever…I’ll love you forever…”

His only response was to cry, quietly mouthing his response in return. She was gone though, eyes glazed over, short ragged breaths no longer coming. He closed her eyes with his hand, weeping as he pulled her close in one last embrace. In one fell motion, Kingslayer became Queenslayer, saved his city, and broke two hearts in the process.

\---Daenerys---

The city was hers, yet she felt none of the joy that she should have. Rhaegal’s injury cast a cloud over everything and her worry for him bordered on painful. The healers had gently removed the barbed projectile from his side as carefully as they could, trying not to cause any more damage. Still, his blood loss had been immense and she feared for his life.

The wound was patched up with as much care for dragon anatomy as the healers possessed. Little if any was known about dragons. Still Rhaegal lived, his siblings refusing to leave his side. He had entered a state of non-responsiveness, a coma for a dragon. No one could reach him, even her, yet his sides still moved up and down showing signs of life.

She was resolved to move him into the city to remove him from the elements. She needed some place where a guard could be easily posted and was relatively secure yet large enough to house a dragon.

_If only such place existed…_

She turned her gaze to the skyline of the city, a large blackened structure dotting the horizon.

_The Dragonpit will have to do._

Orders were given and Rhaegal was placed on several large converted flatbed wagons. His siblings looked on ominously; ready to roast any who cause him pain. His transfer went off without a hitch, she was at least grateful for that. The passed through the Old Gate, the road littered with carnage. Servants went ahead clearing the dead from the road. The city still burned in several places, and the Unsullied and Dothraki messengers continued to bring her and Grey Worm updates as the procession continued.

Pockets of resistance where still present throughout the city the reports noted, although by and large, the city had surrendered. Strict orders were given to spare any that surrendered yet for those who continued to resist, no quarter would be given. Teams were assigned to begin fighting fires to prevent them from continuing to spread and Tyrion volunteered to lead that taskforce. He muttered something about being intimately familiar with the confusing layout of the city, she gave him her blessing, and he was off.

Finally, after heavy laboring to get the heavy Rhaegal up Rhaenys’ Hill, they arrived at the Dragon Pit. It was far larger than she had imagined seeing it from the distance. It was a cavernous building, the remnants of the great roof jutted up into the sky giving it a dragon like appearance in and of itself. The entrance to the great structure was massive, although it was blocked by iron doors that had been sealed long ago. The building was charred black from the fire that had secured its fate.

She huffed impatiently.

_How will we get inside?_

She looked up at Drogon who was standing by her side. The dragon cocked his head to the side inquisitively as she looked at him, almost like he was reading her thoughts.

“It could work,” she said to no one in particular before turning to Grey Worm. “Have your men search the city. Bring whatever artisans you can find and chain. Bring lots of chain.”

He nodded right away and divided his men up to scour the city. A seat was brought for Daenerys and she sat and continued to listen to the reports that continued to flow to her side.

The Red Keep had fallen, although the events surrounding its demise were confusing and not straight forward. She put that report from her mind resolving to go assess the situation there as soon as she was finished here.

The smallfolk remained locked in their houses for the most part. Her soldiers made no attempts to force them from their homes. Rather, let them come out when they felt it was safe. She knew the city must be starving. Every effort was being made to bring what supplies they could afford into the city in hopes of gaining the peoples trust. She wanted to show them what kind of ruler she would be.

Yara had been victorious on the water, although she had paid a dear price for that victory. The bay still burned brightly and was clogged by the large amounts of debris floating on the surface and hiding right beneath it. It would be a long while before shipping could once again commence. She tucked that item away in her memory as one of importance for the future.

Finally, Grey Worm returned along with citizens of the city who were skilled craftsmen of some sort. Together, Daenerys relayed her plan to them. They were terrified of her dragons at first, but once they realized they were relatively safe, they set about their task.

She had instructed them to focus on the frame that surrounded the still solid iron door. The door was almost impenetrable, but the frame was worn down by years of rot and decay along with the fire that had ravaged the building. Still it was made of heavy wood that would not easily be torn asunder. Finally, anchors were mounted along the frame at even intervals and chains attached to each anchor.

Her Dothraki arrived as commanded and together in groups; the Dothraki and their mounts attached the chains and began to pull. The horses were skittish around the dragons but their masters calmed them down. Only masters of the horse like the Dothraki had impressive complete control over their animals.

The frame creaked and groaned but would not budge. Drogon snorted in anger and moved to grasp one of the large chains in his own mouth. The Dothraki holding the chain scattered and Viserion moved to do the same. The Dothraki and dragons worked together once more and the frame slowly began to budge until suddenly, it burst apart, shards of wood flying in every direction. Drogon shielded her from the flying shards; his body absorbed the impact, the wood had no effect on his sturdy scales.

With the frame gone, the iron door was left standing in place with no support. Drogon made for the entrance and with a slight nudge of his nose, the door began to fall backwards and hit the ground with a resounding thud. The inside of the Dragonpit was dark, lit only by streaks of light coming through the remains of the large domed ceiling.

Daenerys walked forward in awe eager to get a good look inside of the once magnificent structures built by her ancestors. She walked forward with Varys who had just joined her again and Grey Worm by her side. Out of nowhere while she was gawking at the ruins, Varys stuck out his arm to halt her advance. She was about to protest when he pointed at something in the distance, further along inside the building. A green glow emanated from the jars piled high.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked trying to keep her voice from trembling but failing.

“It is your Grace,” Varys responded. “I would suggest we removed it from the building before moving Rhaegal to reside here.”

She nodded in reply, “How do we dispose of it? Is there a safe way?”

“There is indeed your Grace,” Varys said gravely. “But there are few who know how. Fortunately for you, I know of those who can help…provided they are still alive.”

“Find them then Lord Varys. This is your top priority. And once you are done here, I want the city searched, and any more stock piles like this disposed of in the same manner.”

“As you wish your Grace.”

 The man bowed low, turned and departed, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe as he walked. She instructed the Unsullied to keep watch over Rhaegal until he could be safely ensconced inside the Dragonpit and then she headed down the hill.

_I can put this off no longer._

\------

The door to the Great Hall was wide open upon her arrival. The room before her spoke of the chaos it had recently seen. Pools of blood dotted the floor, although the bodies had been cleared from the Hall at least. The Hall it seemed had caught fire. A portion of the wall and roof were badly burnt and several windows shattered. Light filtered through the holes in the roof and wall left open by the recent inferno. The wood still smoldered here and there, ash and smoke filling the air giving it a fog like appearance.

She walked forward on the now soiled carpet, thinking back over everyone who had made this same walk in years past. All the Kings and Queens, her family who had occupied this Hall. She approached the Iron Throne and as she drew near, she noticed a figure resting sideways on the Iron Throne. She squinted to gain a better view of who it was through the smoke but could not tell. Finally she reached the foot of the dais upon which the Iron Throne sat. She looked up at her would be usurper but it was only a boy. A teen boy dressed in serving garments.

She walked up the steps with a wry smile on her face. The boy was sitting on the Throne staring at her nonchalantly.

“How is it?” she asked him.

“Eh. Not that comfortable actually. And these blades?”

He pricked himself intentionally on one of the still razor sharp tips.

“You have to watch out for these.”

“I’ll that under advisement,” she laughed.

“I suppose you want your seat back.”

_Only my whole life._

“If you are done with it of course,” she gestured gracefully. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Be my guest. You have earned it.”

He hopped up from his place on the Iron Throne and dashed away out of the Hall.

_What a peculiar little boy._

She bent down and noticed blood stains covering the seat and back of the Throne. They were no longer wet but she could tell they had not been there long. She made a mental note to discover what had gone down here and where Cersei was hiding. She turned around and eased herself gently onto the Iron Throne careful to avoid wounding herself.

_The boy was right. This isn’t very comfortable._

Yet still, she wouldn’t trade this seat for any in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess GRRM rubbed on off on me. Killing characters left and right. Hope you all enjoyed it :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I had to get a new computer, my job is keeping me busy, yadda, yadda *insert random excuse here*
> 
> Hope you all enjoy.

\---Sam---

Sam sat at a simple desk in an uncomfortable straight backed chair. Books were piled high all around him like castle walls that threatened to engulf him. The air was stuffy, and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. He constantly had to wipe his brow to keep from ruining the pages of the book he was reading. Lunch had long since passed and the growling in his stomach had subsided to only a dull roar. He was oblivious to it all.

His nose was buried deep in a dusty old scroll, with writing so faint he had to squint to read it.

_Yet still some believe the Last Hero was not a conqueror, but a diplomat. An agreement was reached between men and the Others. It was the Others themselves that raised the magical wall of ice, not to seal themselves off, but to mark their territory and protect themselves from a dangerous source of magic to the south of their domain._

_This agreement, or pact, was sealed with marriage._

There the scroll ended. Sam scrambled to find more pages but that was the end of it. If there had been more to the story, it had either been misplaced long ago, or never written down. He sighed in frustration and gently set the fragile scroll back down on the table.

_Half truths and wild ramblings. That is all I ever find! Yet still I feel I am on the verge of something..._

He pulled another ancient tome from the pile surrounding him and read the title once again.

 ' _A Compendium on Azor Ahai'_

_An interesting enough read, but still just scholars guessing at what they know based on half remembered myths._

He set the book down. He had already read it cover to cover twice, and yet no breakthroughs had been made. No weapon that could be brought to bear to defeat the White Walkers once and for all. He reached for the room temperature water that sat on the desk. A ring was left on the table top from his cup as he took a long swig. He finished the contents of the container and set it back down feeling slightly refreshed.

_Who would have thought reading all day long could be such hard work?_

He stood up, resigned to take a break and walk around to stretch his legs. His legs groaned as he stood and he had to take it slow. He still was not used to sitting in place all day like he used to before his time spent with the Nights Watch. He wondered away from his desk. He took a left once he made it to the end of the long row of shelves that led back to his little workstation. 

He had set himself up in the most ancient part of the library in hopes that his location would lead him to unlocking secrets long thought lost. So far he had had little luck. He wondered to the next row over and began to walk down the aisle, scanning the books carefully as he went. 

_'A Complete History of Weapons in Westeros'_  

He snagged that book from its resting place and deposited it in his arm. He continued checking both sides of the row. 

_'The Seasons and Their Formation'_  

_Could be an interesting read._  

He hummed to himself as he continued to select books from off of the shelf. 

His arms were nearly full when he came to the end of the row. He was satisfied that he had enough reading to last him the rest of the week and he was just about to turn around and head back to his desk when something caught his eye. A small worn book, bound in some sort of creased leather sat on the top shelf jutting out away from the rest of the books in the row as if calling to him. He tilted his head in question, struggling to read the fine yet ornate print to no avail. 

Finally, he decided it was worth investigating further. He set the rather large stack of books he had gather softly down on the ground, careful not to topple any over as he did. He stood up straight and reached for the book. He was just a little too short and had to stand up on the tips of his toes. He stretched with the full length of his body and was barely able to reach the bottom of the book. He pulled it down from its home and dust rained down around him. 

He brushed the front of the book off with his hand and searched for a title. None was to be found. He turned the book to investigate its spine further and was finally able to make out the thin gold print that adorned the book. 

_'A Song of Ice and Fire'_  

A chill ran down Sam's spine. 

_Where have a heard that term before..._  

He racked his brain searching for the answer before the memory finally came rushing back to him. He turned and ran as quickly as he could back to his desk, abandoning the pile of books he had gathered unceremoniously behind. He made it back to his desk and rummaged through his stack of books with a feverish pace. 

_Where is it? I know it is here somewhere._  

Finally he found what he had been looking for. 

_'Legends of Days Past, Volume III: The Prince that was Promised'_  

He had found several of these books devoted to mythical figures in Westeros' past. Several more seemed to be missing with no hope of finding them. He cared little for the other volumes at the moment. Right now he was more concerned with something hidden away, deep inside the volume he held in his hand. 

He opened the book and flipped through the pages impatiently. Finally he came to the chapter he was looking for and went straight to the end. 

_Although debate continues about the identity and purpose of The Prince that was Promised, this much is clear, the Prince will only be made known when the world is subjected to its greatest struggle yet. His coming will be heralded by a song, a song of ice and fire._  

Sam sat back in shock. When he had read the phrase before, it had made little sense to him. He had searched everywhere for reference to this 'song' but had found nothing for his efforts. He had given up hope on finding anything. 

_Could this book be the key? Azor Ahai, The Prince that was Promised, the Last Hero. Is there any connection?_  

He timidly reached for the book unsure if he was willing to open the cover and have his hopes dashed yet again. He slowly opened the book. Several loose sheathes of paper were wedged in the back of the book and in between the pages spread throughout the book. The pages themselves were frail and easily the oldest he had discovered so far. He turned the pages gently, careful not to let any of the loose pieces fall out or lose their place. He was satisfied that this book was as real and old as he was going to find. He went straight to the first page, and began to read. 

_\---_ Sansa _\---_

The gate opened and Sansa ground her teeth in impatience. Finally, in they rode, looking bedraggled and tired from their time spent on the road. She located Jon in the middle of the group and her heart swelled with joy. Relief flooded through her at seeing him safe once again. Tormund had filled her in on the escape from Winterfell, yet still seeing him alive once again put to rest the many fears she had been nursing over the past weeks. 

Jon dismounted and handed the reins to Elias with a weary nod of thanks. Sansa remained in place although she struggled against the urge to run immediately to his side. 

_It wouldn't be proper for a lady to run across the muddy courtyard._  

Jon however, had no such inhibitions. He scanned the crowd that was gathering to greet them his eyes never resting until they settled on her. His face broke out into one of the rare smiles that he seldom gave. He sprinted towards her, covering the distance between them in several large strides, startling her and the rest of the onlookers who bowed hastily out of respect for their king who had just returned. He stopped several arm lengths away from her suddenly remembering his propriety. 

_In his dirty clothes he stands before me looking less like a king than anyone, yet his bearing is more regal than ever._  

She dropped in a slight courtesy before him and greeted him. 

“Your Grace.” 

He surprised her then and moved forward enveloping her in a crushing hug. Shock over his behavior was quickly replaced by the overwhelming urged to grip him just as tightly, and she returned the hug fiercely. 

“I missed you,” he whispered in her ear. 

“And I you.” 

He stepped back suddenly embarrassed by everyone who was watching. Fortunately, at that moment two new arrivals distracted the crowd and Jon's attention turned to them. 

“Good to see you in one piece Lord Snow,” Tormund greeted him. 

Jon gripped the large mans arm in response, “And you Tormund. Good to see you have been staying out of trouble.” 

“And what would give you that impression?” Tormund winked back and smiled at the other new arrival. 

He was accompanied by Brienne and Sansa held her breath momentarily as she greeted Jon with a decidedly dour face. 

“Your Grace. It is good to have you back. You have been sorely missed.” 

“It is good to see you as well Lady Brienne. Thank you for watching over Sansa for me in my absence.” 

Brienne cast a look in Sansa's direction that went unnoticed by Jon and continued. 

“Always your Grace. There is much you must catch up on.” 

He nodded in agreement but was otherwise silent scanning the crowd once more. Sansa had a million questions to ask of him but now was not the time. He needed a proper bath, and time to recover from his journey. She motioned to Mya. 

“That can wait for now. Jon must rest. Mya here will show you to your quarters. After which, we can talk.” 

“I look forward to it,” Jon replied with what looked like a twinkle in his eye as Mya led him away. 

_It is as if he is a changed man._  

He was back now, close by her side, and that was all that mattered. 

\------

Sansa was in her room reviewing the state of affairs here at the Twins. Many minor things had to be dealt with on a daily basis and she was not one to waste her precious little time during the day doing nothing waiting for Jon. Brienne strode into the room wearing the frown that had been permanently attached to her face since the night they had claimed the Twins as their own. Sansa sighed. 

“What is it Brienne?” 

She tried not to let the growing displeasure with her protector creep into her voice but she was unsuccessful. 

Brienne hesitated before starting. 

“Do you plan on telling him everything? The whole truth?” 

“What truth? The truth that the Freys murdered our family and many others of the North and that they got their just deserts?” 

Brienne eyed her carefully as she continued in a measured tone. 

“No one is arguing that what the Freys did wasn't horrible. They deserved to be punished. Yet the way it was handled...” 

“So you would rather have had me throw them all in prison? So that when Jon arrived, they could be tried and _then_ killed? Because trust me, Jon may be a just and kind ruler, but he has no qualms about sentencing those who deserve it.” 

Brienne tried to continue but Sansa cut her off. 

“Dead is dead Brienne. Dying at a feast or dying with your head on the block, it is all the same. There is no honor in it. The world is not black and white. No one is all good or all evil, only shades of grey. If you are not prepared to defeat your enemies at any cost, then you have already lost.” 

“So what will you tell Jon?” Brienne asked quietly. 

Sansa sighed, “There is a reason I kept you from my side that night. You would have tried to stop me. You are too good for this world Lady Brienne, and so is Jon. I will spare him the whole truth, and so will you. Promise me.” 

Brienne nodded, the matter seemingly resolved although Sansa knew the woman's conscience could not be easily swayed by words alone. She would have to work to earn the lady's trust again. 

“I promise.” 

\------

She was still sitting there in her room going over lengthy reports, Brienne long gone, when a knock on the door drew her attention. Jon walked through the door a smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

_What has him in such a good mood?_  

He was freshly cleaned, his hair still slightly damp and pulled up behind his head like he had taken to wearing it. His clothes were simple, black on black with nothing to indicate that he was the King of the North. He stood leaning against the doorway, his lean body akin to that of a predator, ready to explode into sudden violence if need be at any moment. She couldn't take her eyes off him. 

“You're staring,” he said, now with a full on smirk. This shook her from the state that she had been in. 

She blushed and looked down into the papers in her lap. 

“What were you working on?” he followed up. 

She shuffled the paper in her lap aimlessly. 

“Just trying to keep up with the piles of paperwork. Reports coming in from the scouts, cooks complaining about the amounts of mouths to feed, squabbles between different houses. Trying to keep peace between our own people is a full time job.” 

“Well now that I am here, you don't have to do this alone anymore.” 

He crossed in front of her brushing his hand across hers as he did before sitting down in the chair right beside her. 

“I am so happy you are finally here,” she confided. 

“Aye, me too. It appears I gave this job to the right person. I have so much I want to tell you, but I would hear of your time spent here first.” 

She smiled weakly before beginning. 

“The journey here was long and hard, I feared for your safety every step of the way. The only thing that kept me going was that I knew you were counting on me. I had to succeed.” 

Jon remained silent, his gaze fixed upon her, his hands crossed in front of him. 

“When we arrived at the Twins, the Freys welcomed us...yet something was off. After what happened to Robb, well, this time we were ready.” 

He leaned forward, “Ready for what?” 

“Frey treachery.” 

He sat back, cursed, and she continued. 

“They threw a feast celebrating our arrival and all were invited to join. As the night drew to a close, they turned on us again.” 

She sat silent until finally he spoke up, “So what happened?” 

She shrugged, “Like I said we were ready. The Freys had spent the evening drinking and by the time they attacked us, they were too drunk to do anything. Ryamn Frey was not known for his intellect. My men were fully armed and sober. We took them down as necessary. Vengeance, finally for Robb.” 

She looked at him anxiously. He appeared to be deep in thought. Finally he nodded, “So be it. This time they bit off more than they could chew. I hope you were far from the fighting.” 

She thought back to her blood soaked dress that had been burned. 

“As far as possible. My guards were there. They kept me as far from danger as they could.” 

This seemed to satisfy him, “Then I owe them a great debt. Tell me more, do any of the Freys still live? What of the rest of the Riverlands?” 

She proceeded to catch him up on what she knew. 

“Olyvar Frey is still alive, along with many of the women and children. One of the only Frey males. He was in hiding, claiming he had remained loyal to Robb the entire time.” 

“And do you believe him?” 

“I am inclined to. He was not at the Twins during the time of the attack. He was hiding in some small village in the countryside. What reason would he have for residing there?” 

“Hmm. And what of Riverrun? It was held by the Freys right?” 

“Yes, along with help from the Lannisters. We have sent word, however of our victory here. I believe what remains of my mothers kin will soon reclaim their home.” 

She continued to fill him in regarding the state of affairs of the castle and Westeros in general. It was rumored that a great battle had occurred at King's Landing, although between who and which side had won was still unsure. Reports of a host marching on Casterly Rock had also been brought to her attention. The general consensus was that it was made up of a host of Martells and Tyrels, although what could have brought them together against the Lannisters escaped her. 

She was loathe to inundate him with the plethora of menials tasks and concerns that plagued her just yet. She wanted him to have time to recover before subjecting him once again to the banalities of leadership. 

“Tell me of Winterfell Jon. Tell me of our home.” 

His good mood vanished, something that she was sorry for, but she needed to know. Tormund had filled her in on the main details. The battle against the White Walkers, the fall of Winterfell and the subsequent escape of the rest of the people of the North. He had told her Jon had remained behind, and she had been both terrified at the thought and angry at Tormund for allowing Jon to remain behind.

“I saw Bran,” he began, “I saw your brother.” 

Shock registered across her face. 

“What?! When? How is that possible? How is he?” 

“Surprisingly well last I saw him. He was walking again, and he seems to have these... I don't know how to describe them. Abilities I guess.” 

“Walking?” she asked incredulously. “How is that possibly?” 

He shrugged looking down at his chest, “Apparently anything is possibly theses days. The world has gone mad.” 

“You said he has abilities. What did you mean by that?” 

He looked a little uncomfortable trying to answer, as if he didn't quite believe what he was saying himself. 

“He can do things. Things that I have only ever heard of in Old Nan's stories or sitting around the campfire with the Nights Watch. He knows things too. Things he should not be able to know. Without him. I do not know what we would have done.” 

A question that she had forgotten to ask upon learning Jon had spoken with Bran suddenly popped into her head and she was afraid to hear the answer. 

“And where is Bran now Jon,” she asked in a tiny voice. 

Jon answered with a pained expression, “He stayed behind to fight the White Walkers while I escaped. Last I saw he was dueling with them and holding his own. If only you could have seen him Sansa. He was so brave...” 

His voice trailed off at that. 

“Is.” 

He looked back up at her inquisitively. 

“He _is_ so brave. We Starks are hard to kill. We don't go down that easily.” 

A determined look crossed Jon's face and he reached out with his own hand to take hers. She let him and they passed several moments in comfortable silence hand in hand. 

She broke the silence as she still had questions. 

“Tormund tells me you ventured off into the Neck on the way here, and that was the reason for your delay. What prompted you to do this?” 

He leaned back and let go of her hand, his voice stilted as he spoke. 

“I had to find Howland Reed and warn him of what is coming. I owed him a visit in person as his liege lord.” 

“And did you find him?” 

“Indeed I did. His daughter led us right to him. He was resolved to stay and defend the North for as long as possible.” 

“Father always did speak highly of him.” 

Jon looked away and a pained expression seemed to ghost over his face before quickly disappearing. 

_All this time, and still speaking of father hurts him. If only I could remove that pain forever._  

They had spent enough time discussing matters of state, she was determined that Jon would have at least one evening where he could put aside the weight of the world and be normal for once. She changed subjects rapidly. 

“Speaking of father, remember that time when Arya tried on his armor...” 

They shared stories and laughter of better days deep into the night. 

\---Jon---

The next few days, Jon spent riding with Sansa around the countryside, taking stock of the situation. He met many people who were used to living under the thumb of the Freys, and he promised them his rule would be different. He did not shy away from telling them the true reason of his arrival. The true danger they all now faced together. They deserved to know that much for themselves. 

He was closer than ever with Sansa now. The time spent apart had only made the two more desperate for each others company now that they were reunited. As immensely important as the work they were doing was, Sansa was always able to add levity to the situation no matter what it was. Something he had been severely lacking after spending years with the sour men of the Nights Watch. Sam had always been quick with a joke as well, and not for the first time since their parting, Jon wondered how he was doing. 

He spoke with Olyvar Frey, who apologized profusely for the wrongs his family had committed. He promised his utter loyalty to Jon. It was hard to look the young man in the face and not think of the family that had taken his own, but Jon forced his anger away. This man should not suffer for the sins of his family no matter how terrible they were. 

Edmure Tully had been fished out of the dungeons in pretty bad shape when Sansa had taken the Twins. Jon spoke with him briefly but the man spoke only of his family. Edmure was being slowly nursed back to health by his wife Roslin. 

One day shortly after his arrival at the Twins, they woke to snow falling from the sky. It was only a light dusting and it melted as soon as it made contact with the ground. Still, it brought a sense of urgency back into Jon. He had fallen into a routine of spending the day with Sansa and thinking of little else but her. 

He no longer could ignore the coming problems that they would face as much as he wanted to. Scouts had been sent back into the Neck to try and find any word of the crannogmen. So far they had found nothing, but there was also no sign of the dead either which was a pleasant surprise. Still, complacency was a trap they could not afford to fall into. 

A meeting was called, and the leaders of their new found coalition, the houses of the North, the wildlings, and the people of the Riverlands, gathered to discuss their next move. Jon allowed Sansa to lead the discussion. She had the greatest ties to both the North and the Riverlands and she spoke with more clarity and ease than he could ever seem to muster. He was content to sit back and watch, adding his own input whenever she requested it. 

_She acts like a Queen. Indeed she would make a good one._  

She caught him staring at her several times throughout the day and smiled at him before returning to the matters at hand. He was quick to point out, when one of the minor lords sitting at the table questioned her leadership, that she spoke with his full authority. Her will was his. 

His mind wondered throughout the day. He had thought long and hard about his newly discovered lineage and whether or not he should tell her. He was afraid of how she would react, how she would treat him when she found out who his father was. The Targaryens had murdered her grandfather, her uncle. His father had fought against her father in battle. Would she even believe him? He had no proof. She might think him crazy and laugh in his face. He wanted to tell her, yet he could not bring himself to find the right time to do so. 

The day finally reached its end. The planning would continue the next day but for now a feast had been prepared and everyone was ready to put the troubles of the day aside for the evening. Jon said a quick farewell to Sansa as they each headed to go change into something more appropriate for the evening. Once in his room, he quickly changed into something a little more king-like. A black tunic with the Stark direwolf stitched into the front in intricate grey thread. It was as fancy as he would allow after Sansa had protested that he must at least try to look the part of a king. 

After he was finished changing, he went in search of Sansa to escort her to the feast. The door to her room was slightly ajar and he entered deep in thought over the matters of the day after a brief knock on her doorpost. 

A surprised voice rang out from across the room as he realized what he had just stumbled upon. 

“Jon.” 

Mya was standing behind Sansa attempting to help her into her formal dress for the evening. Jon blushed when he realized she was standing there in only a thin linen shift that did a terrible job of veiling the gentle curves of her body. 

His face went red and his voice stuttered as he attempted an apology, “Sorry Sansa...wait outside...” 

“Nonsense,” she laughed waving him off. “Mya help me behind the curtain. Jon, you can sit over there by the fireplace and wait. This will only take a moment.” 

Mya helped Sansa move behind the changing curtain that was set up in the corner of the room as Jon moved to take his seat. His eyes were drawn to the sway of her hips as she moved and then she was gone, around the corner behind the curtain. 

“Are you wearing the garment I had made for you?” She asked over the curtain, talking over the rustle her dress made as she put it on. 

“I am,” he replied, “And thank you for not dressing me up like one of the those southern dunces, all decked out in lace and ruffles.” 

She laughed at that, “Careful Jon. We are in the South now after all. It would not do well to insult the people we are trying to ally ourselves with.” 

He grumbled something unintelligible but otherwise remained silent. 

“Alright. What do you think?” 

She was finally dressed for the evening. He looked up at her in wonder. She was wearing a blue dress that matched her eyes perfectly. It was accentuated by an auburn shawl that covered her mostly bare shoulders and kept the new chill in the air from reaching her. He couldn't help but notice that these were the house colors of House Tully. Her hair was done up in a braid and lay over one shoulder seemingly blending into the shawl until it disappeared. 

_She dresses to remind everyone here of the ties between the North and the Riverlands. Even when saying nothing, she is able to find way to be diplomatic. And look extremely good while doing it._  

“That is all for now Mya. You may go get ready.” 

Mya took one look between them and bowed her head slightly at the dismissal before leaving the room quickly shutting the door behind her. 

Sansa stepped forward slowly, a questioning look on her face. Jon was unable to tear his gaze from her, attempting to burn this image forever in his mind. 

“You never answered my question your Grace,” she declared coyly. 

Jon struggled to speak but found his mouth dry. He licked his lips quickly and tried to put into simple words what she was making him feel. 

“Sansa,” he confessed. “I have never seen anyone more beautiful. That dress...” 

She dipped her head slightly and her face flushed only making her look even prettier. 

“Gods Sansa. That dress...” he repeated. 

“I am glad you like it,” she responded. 

“'Like' is not a strong enough word for what I am feeling right now.” 

She was close now, close enough that he could warp his arms around her slender waist. He reached out and encircled her with his arms. In return, she placed both of her hands on his chest. His chest pounded like drum between them, but if she noticed, she didn't seem to mind. 

“Every day we spent apart, I dreamed of doing this. And we have been back together for how long, and I am just doing this now? I am a fool for waiting all this time.” 

A gentle laugh escaped her lips, “You are a fool indeed Jon Snow. But I will forgive you if you allow me one thing.” 

“And what might that be,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out. Her closeness was intoxicating and all clear thought escaped him. 

She slowly leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. His lips were eager for hers, and they fit together like they were made for one another. Finally they pulled away gasping for air, but he was not satisfied. He brought them together once again and this time her hands went to his dark curly hair and held on as if her life depended on it. She melted into him, her soft body meeting his firm one begging for contact. His hands roamed, one to the small of her back pulling her tighter against him, the other down over the curve of her hip to the back of her leg. 

Their torsos swayed back and forth as if being buffeted by some wind and they became lost in one another. Time stood still and all he was sure of was that he needed her, needed more of her. They broke free for a second, the desire he felt reflected in the depths of her eyes, before he brought his lips to her neck. He tilted her head gently to the side and trailed kisses down the nape of her nape and then nibbled on the soft of her earlobe. 

She gasped softly as he did this and cooed her approval. He concentrated his attention back on her lips, one hand going to the back of her neck, the other gently resting on her soft cheek. His hand began to wonder again as his tongue danced with hers. Gradually he ran his hand first down her neck, and then over her heart, determined to feel as much of her as possible. 

His hand rested over her heart, which was beating in time wildly with his own. He moved his mouth to her collarbone and began trailing kisses further down her front as his hand passed over her toned abdomen and once again found its home in the small of her back. She gripped his hair tightly and muttered his name lightly as he attempted to gain access past the top of her dress with his mouth. He was contemplating moving his hands to the back of her dress and ridding the barrier for good, feast be damned, when a knock on the door rapped three times. 

They separated quickly panting for breath as the two struggled to regain their composure. Sansa's hazy eyes quickly cleared and she adjusted the front of her dress smoothing it out as if nothing had happened. 

_Damn whoever is at that door._  

She looked at him to make sure he was ready and he shook his head mouthing, “ _Make them go away._ ” 

She shook her head at him silently laughing as she moved to answer the door. It was servant, sent to tell them the feast was ready and everyone was waiting. 

_It was worth a shot._  

One thing was for certain. He needed more of Sansa Stark. 

\------

The feast was dreadfully dull. All he could think about was the woman sitting next to him. The food was dry and bland. There were too many people in the room, all he needed was one. The platitudes directed his way bored him. The praise aimed at him by those sitting before him seemed fake. The only approval he needed was hers. He knew it was no fault of his companions seated around him in the hall. As good of men as they were, none could hold a candle to Sansa. 

He smiled when he was supposed to, he spoke graciously when a question was asked of him, yet she never left his thoughts. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the night finally drew to a close. He was thankful for the end and ready to move on to other pressing concerns. As he began to excuse himself, Elias came up to him with a small piece of parchment in his hand. Jon looked at him questioningly. 

“Your Grace. I found this in the bottom of your saddlebag while cleaning it today. It was slightly crushed but no worse for wear.” 

He handed Jon the note, bowed, then strode away back to his table. Jon looked down at the roll in his hand and his puzzlement turned to recognition. He turned the parchment over in his hand until the seal was upright. 

_The message I received at Winterfell. I must have thrown it in my saddle bags when we fled and forgot about it._  

He debated opening it there and then but looked around the room for Sansa and was unable to find her. He held the note loosely in his fist and set off to find her. 

\---Sansa--- 

Sansa went straight to her room after the feast. She needed a minute alone. 

_This is happening. This is really happening! Jon Snow wants you!_  

Whatever misgivings he had had before, seemed to no longer exist. He had finally decided she was worth it and it was glorious! 

_But would he still want you if he knew everything you had done._  

She ignored the small voice in the back of her head and focused only on her thoughts of Jon. She had been worried when he had begun to explore her body. Ramsay had done the same thing. Unlike Ramsay, Jon had been soft but gentle, although still firm enough that she could feel his need. She shivered at the thought of Ramsay and cursed him once again for everything he had done. That even now, he was spoiling this moment for her. 

No one had ever looked at her the way Jon did. Tyrion looked at her only in pity, as if she was some poor thing. The man was kind enough, yet he only saw her as a pawn to play. Ramsay cared only for his own desires and his gaze was filled only with lust. Jon was different though, and it made her heart beat faster just thinking about it. 

_What if he decides it was all a mistake?_  

She shouted at her inner voice, begging it to shut up. She twisted her hands nervously. 

_Should I go to him? Should I wait and hope he comes to me?_  

She was just about to head out of her room to go find him when she heard a noise at the door. She rushed over hoping it was him and she was not to be disappointed. Jon was standing outside her door and upon seeing her, gave her one of his rare smiles. She pulled him inside the door and shut it behind him turning to face him and leaned in to kiss him once again. He returned the kiss briefly before stopping it. 

She backed off worried that he might have changed his mind. 

“I need to tell you something.” 

“Tell me what?” she asked cautiously afraid of what the answer might be. 

He seemed to pick up on her concern and hurried to allay her fears. 

“Don't worry. It doesn't change the way I feel about you...but maybe how you feel about me.” 

_How I feel about you. How does he feel about me?_  

Instead of asking that, she questioned instead, “After all this time, what could you possibly tell me that would change that Jon?” 

He was on the verge of telling her something that appeared uneasy to say but instead he handed her a roll of parchment with a broken seal. She was still able to make out the seal despite the line running across it. She had not seen many Targaryen sigils during her time spent in the North or King's Landing for that matter but she had learned the sigils of all the major houses in Westeros during her studies, even those of houses long dead. 

She opened what was now obviously a message and began to read. 

_Greetings Jon Snow,_  

_You are hereby invited by_ _Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons to King's Landing. You and I have common enemies. I am working to be rid of mine and secure my kingdom, just as you are doing the same. I would offer you an alliance. Join with me, and together we can face the coming winter united together, and stronger than ever. I will only make this offer once. If you choose to accept, I look forward to greeting you in my rightful home. If you decline, although I bear you no ill will, I will not aid you in what comes next._  

Sansa looked up from the note in disbelief. 

“Daenerys Targaryen? I thought all of the Targaryens were gone?” 

“Rumors of our demise have been greatly exaggerated.” 

She looked at the note again in confusion. 

_Our? What is he talking about?_  

“Jon,” she asked carefully. “What are you trying to say?” 

He sighed and sat down on the side of her bed patting beside himself, “You might want to sit down for this.” 

\------

She sat there with a stunned look of silence on her face. 

_This was not how I thought this evening was going to go._  

“So...Jon Targaryen?” 

He cringed as she said it, as though it were an accusation instead of his name. He rubbed the back of his neck in thought. 

“I am still a little unsure. Jon Targaryen...Jon Waters. Did I trade one bastard name for another? There is still so much I do not know.” 

“Who else knows?” 

“You are the first I have told.” 

Her eyes went wide at that. 

“Besides you, only Bran and Howland as far as I know. There may be others. There probably are. A secret like that is too big to keep from everyone." 

_Does Littlefinger know?_  

She shook her head trying to shake that horrid thought from her mind. 

“Jon, this is a lot to take in at once.” 

“I know,” he said. “I wanted to tell you so many times, yet I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was afraid of what you would think.” 

_He bares his soul to you, regardless of the consequences._  

The tiny annoying voice was back. 

“I think...I think I need some time.” 

_No, all you need is Jon. He hasn't changed!_  

“I know none of this is your fault...but I have to process this.” 

_What does this mean for us? When did Jon and I become an us?_  

He stood abruptly heading bobbing in agreement. 

“I understand. Take all the time you need. It took me days to fully come to terms with it. I will let you be.” 

He had the door open and was about to leave when she stopped him. 

“Jon?” 

“Mhhmm,” he murmured back, head peeking from behind the door. 

“This doesn't change...” she struggled to say out loud what she had been feeling all along. “This doesn't change how I feel about you either.” 

He paused at that and his eyes sparkled with relief. 

“Good night, Sansa Stark,” he uttered, and slipped out the door. 

_Good night, Jon Targaryen._

 


	13. Chapter 13

\---Melisandre---

Melisandre was tired, so tired. Her mount had died days ago, somewhere south of the neck. Still she wondered south aimlessly. Days passed, and she lost all track of time. Her red dress was soiled and had become closer to a shade of brown that resembled the ground she slept on each night.

She had grown gaunt, fat and muscle burned away leaving only bones attempting to escape their fleshy prison. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten anything other roots and a few berries, and the dirty water that kept her alive revolted her.

First Stannis had fallen, but she still had Jon. Then Jon fell as well and her faith had withered away to nothing. But Jon's death was not the end, and the resurrection of his flesh was mirrored in the resurrection of her faith once again.

_I finally found him, the one to lead us through the Long Night. And what happens after all my years of searching? I find myself banished, put aside after all my work._

She took no pride in the death of the girl, yet neither would she admit fault. She still believed she had done what was necessary at the time. The signs were there, she had just followed them.

_Why would you lead me that way, only for it to cause the separation from the one I must stand beside?_

Her god was silent though. There was no fire to be found and his voice had been absent since she had left Winterfell.

She stumbled and fell where she was. She lay on the ground too tired to go any further until she had a respite.

_I have no idea where I am. Am I even still going south?_

The sky was muddled grey with clouds that promised snow soon. The weather held a chill in the air that could soon turn deadly if she continued on in her current state with no shelter.

_Do I even care? What is the point if I can no longer serve?_

Voices faint in the distance called out and she lay very still listening. There was nothing but silence. After waiting several minutes, she decided she must have been hallucinating but then she heard it again. Closer this time, and more pronounced. She could almost make out what they were saying. She rolled to her right, taking what cover the prickly bushes could afford, hoping that it would be enough.

“Over here! I found her!” A voice rang out, now perfectly clear.

_Well, so much for that._

Resigned to meet her fate, and not really caring one way or another at this point, she stood up ready to face whoever was nearby. A man with a bright yellow cloak was pointing in her direction. She looked to where he was facing and noticed two more men trailing behind him. One wore a patch over his eye and the other wore loose red robes that resembled the color that her dress had once been.

_Can it be?_

She looked at the man quizzically as he drew closer yet the man took no particular interest in her. Perhaps her dress was ruined enough that no one could even tell what she once had been. The man in red spoke in a low, even tone.

“What would a lady like yourself be doing out here all alone? This isn't a place to travel by yourself.”

She tried to put on a brave face and assert herself like she had in days past.

“I am traveling south. And as for my business, that is none of your concern.”

The man stared at her with a level gaze, not moving for several seconds.

“Maybe not. But it will concern her. You are coming with us.”

_Her?_

The three men came to stand around her, and while it appeared they meant no immediate harm, it was clear that she did not have a choice in the matter. She was going with them whether she liked it or not. She sighed and motioned for them to lead the way.

_It is not like I have anything better to do anyways. They might even feed me..._

They set of in a wondering manner. Instead of making for a road or pathway, they wound even deeper into the woods. The going was tough, sharp rocks and roots bit at her sore feet through the threadbare soles of her shoes. The tree branches and thorny bushes swiped at her arms and legs at ever chance they had, almost as if out of malice. Finally they made it to what must pass for there camp.

Several others were crouched around a campfire sitting on upturned rotting logs. They looked up at her arrival a couple with their mouths agape. The man in red motioned for her to take a seat by the campfire and made one of the men give up his place for her. A pot of something was cooking over the low fire. It could not have been anything more than bland stew boiling there, but to her it smelled better than anything she had tried before. Her stomach growled and she ached to throw herself forward, regardless of the fire, and consume the entire lot. She kept her place though.

She looked around but the man in red had disappeared and she found herself staring at the new faces of strangers. She counted nine, ten, eleven.

_Is this all of them? And who are they?_

Noises from behind her caught her attention and she turned to see who was approaching. Her mouth went open in a wordless scream and she flinched back in horror when she saw who stood beside the man in red.

A woman stood beside him that resembled a horror straight out of one of her visions from the Long Night. She was pale, her soft flesh resembled that of curdled milk. Half of her hair was missing, the rest was white and cut at different lengths as though brittle enough to break as she walked. Her face was the worst of all.

Scratch marks marred her cheeks and forehead, her lips curved upward in a mocking smirk. Her eyes burned with a terrible hatred that forced Melisandre to quickly look away. A great gash marked the figure's throat, the folds of the skin hanging open still.

_What is this abomination?_

The figure laughed in response, a low rasping laugh as if she could tell what Melisandre was thinking. The figure raised one hand questioningly, beckoning her to come forward, while the other went straight to her damaged throat.

“Join...or die.”

The voice was so garbled that she struggled to make out the words. The threat was clear enough however.

“Who are you?” Melisandre asked afraid to know the answer. “What are you?”

The figure cackled again in response and mumbled a string of words that was unintelligible to her. The man in red beside her came to her rescue.

“She is death to those who have done her wrong...or those who would oppose her. She is Lady Stoneheart.”

A chill ran down her back as he spoke.

“Did you do this too her? Bring her back?”

She threw the question at the man in red like a weapon trying to break his defenses. He shook his head in response.

“Not I. But another gave his life for hers. And so we follow her now. She has given us new purpose.”

“This is wrong. She should not have this power,” she stated pointing at the Lady.

The man simply shrugged.

“Who am I to say what is right and wrong? It is as our Lord commands.”

“This was not the work of R'hllor,” she seethed growing angry. “This was His doing.”

The Lady stared at her intently at that and muttered the words once again.

“Join...or die.”

“I will not join you,” Melisandre stated firmly

“Then...you will die.”

At that, the Lady motioned to several of the men standing by and they quickly grabbed Melisandre by the shoulders holding her in place. She struggled against their grasp but in her weak state, she might as well have been a child.

The lady pointed to a tree branch nearby and uttered only a single word, “Noose.”

If the men had not been holding her up, Melisandre was sure her legs would have given out then and there. The men roughly wrenched her arms behind her back and tied them tight with a rope that was frayed on the ends binding them in a painful position. They dragged her to one of the rotten stumps that they had been sitting on that was now positioned directly below the large tree branch.

One of the men attempted to throw another rope over the branch but failed on the first attempt. On his second attempt he was successful. The rope came down and the man tied a noose in it. She looked up as she drew close and gulped

They lifted her tiny frame onto the top of the stump and she wobbled almost falling from the top. The noose was thrown around her neck and she began to hyperventilate as they tightened it. Panic rose in her chest and she struggled to remain still to refrain from falling off the log and hanging herself. One of the men pulled on the rope, forcing her to stand on her toes while she struggled for breath. The man tied the other end of the rope to another nearby tree and went to stand next to her ready to remove the stump when commanded.

The man in red spoke up now almost pleadingly.

“This is your last chance. All you have to do is join us and she will spare you. Work with us.”

Melisandre forced the words out.

“I...cannot...”

He shook his head sadly, “So be it.

He stood aside now, waiting for his Lady to give the command that would send Melisandre to her long awaited death. She was ambivalent. Her long life flashed before her eyes and her brain went into overdrive, half soaked in terror, half peacefully resigned. A wolf howled in the distance. Something in the fire caught her eye and she snapped to it. Her eyes widened as the images danced before her once again.

Apparently the Lady had had enough. She signaled to Melisandre's would be executioner and he moved to kick the stump out from under her. The rope cut roughly into her throat but she was able to shout one word loud and clear that rang out into the night.

\---Jon---

Their prey was smart and had so far eluded them. Davos atop his mount tore by Jon shouting, “On your left!”

Jon spared but a quick look in his direction before refocusing on the task at hand. Tormund peeled off to the right, out away from Jon in a wide half circle intending to encircle their foe. Ghost galloped beside Jon, mouth snarling as his long legs kept time with Jon's mount.

_He is nearly as big as a small horse now._

Pod, Elias and an assortment of knights rode just behind him bringing up the rear of the chase. They had been at it for almost an hour now, following the windy path that their prey seemed to be taking. Jon ducked as a tree branch flew by over his head.

_It would not do for a King to be felled by a tree branch in front of his men._

He could sense the chase was nearing an end now, their quarry slowing down. Jon reached for the bow strapped tightly to his back along with the two arrows that were with it. He caught a glimpse of his target through the brush but his horse lept to avoid a fallen log just as he released his first shot. It sailed harmlessly high and he cursed his bad fortune.

_I never was much good with this anyways. Give me Longclaw any day of the week..._

Pod passed him up as Jon slowed to notch another arrow followed closely by Elias. Pod's first attempt found its target, burying itself in the chest of the deer they had been chasing. Elias was quick to follow it up with another that took it in the neck killing it instantly.

Jon reined his horse in and came to a halt, the rest of the party catching up with them and circling around the fallen target. Shouts of praise were lofted in the young men's direction and Jon smiled.

_It is good that they laugh now. Finally something to lift their spirits._

Hunting had grown hard. Their source of meat had fled further south as the cold crept in from the north, and what had stuck around in the Riverlands had been hunted almost to extinction.

_This land can no longer support us even if we wanted to stay._

Their numbers had continued to grow as people looking for refuge flocked to his side, hoping, praying that he would be the one to lead them through the winter to come. Elias and Pod quickly field dressed the deer and got it ready for travel. The rest of the party milled around, conversing with one another and drinking wine from the flasks they had brought with them. Today was akin to a holiday for most, an opportunity to cut loose.

Finally the time came to head back to the Twins. Ghost sniffed around the area, his nose to the ground tracking something, but followed Jon and the others as they turned around and headed for home. The group struck up a lively chorus as they rode, singing a song that Jon was only vaguely familiar with. By the third verse, he was familiar enough with the tune that he could hum along to the rhythm as the rest sang.

They crossed the worn path that would take them back to the Twins quickly and Jon was already thinking of being back in Sansa's presense once again. He looked up from his horse and a smudge on the horizon caught his attention. He took a second glance to the northwest and his suspicions were confirmed.

_Not a cloud after all. Either smoke or dust. If it is the later, it could mean ill..._

He began to mention it to Davos but as he turned, the knight was already issuing orders to outriders who quickly sprung into action heading for the direction whence the issue came.

“It could be nothing your Grace, but better safe than sorry.”

Jon nodded in agreement as the party readied for combat should the occasion arise. They continued heading south back to the Twins at a quicker pace now, eager to be behind the safety of the thick castle walls. Just when the Twins came into sight, one of the outriders came springing back to them, his horse looking wild and lathered up from the hard sprint it had just endured.

“Report,” Davos barked out gruffly.

“My lord...men approach...riding this way...with women and children. They appear small...”

The tension went out of Jon and he released the grasp he had on his sword that he had grabbed unaware. Davos looked at Jon questioningly.

“Crannogmen, if I had to guess,” Jon replied. “I wonder if Howland is among them...”

He trailed off at that lost in thought. They continued to the eastern half of the Twins after that, although slower now that they knew they were not being pursed by some unfriendly force. The gate was still open after their exit earlier in the afternoon. Families were camped around the entrance in all manner tents and quickly thrown together shelters. Children ran past them waving and cheering before veering off to return to their play.

_These people are vulnerable on this side of the river. I need to speak with Sansa about relocating them all to the other side._

They passed through the gates to little fanfare, Jon insisted that he did not need a great fuss everywhere he went. It was impractical and wasted everyone's times. He dismounted and handed his gear over to Elias who took it without question. By now his squire knew his wishes before Jon could even utter them. Pod patted the young man on his back as they walked together, the deer they had captured during the day strung over his back. The two had grown quite close since they had met.

Jon was resolved to wait and meet their guests upon their arrival; he knew they would be coming soon. He stood in the courtyard and waited, hands resting on the pommel of this sword. Davos stood by his side, but the rest of the group set about their chores for the day, everyone keen to finish what they must before they could greet the newcomers.

A scent that resembled flowers floated across the dirty yard, rising above that of horses and man and piqued Jon's interest. He already knew who it was before he turned around, a smiled covering his using somber face.

Sansa was daintily picking her away across the barren dirt covered square, determined to stay as clean as possible. Her presence along with the pleasant scent that proceeded her, reminded Jon of a plucky flower, determined to bring brightness into a world surrounded by filth. He moved to greet her and she graciously accepted his arm as he steadied her.

She leaned into him as they met, a smile playing on her lips as well.

“How fared the hunt your Grace?”

“As well as can be expected, my Lady. I dare say we might have venison for the evening meal.”

“And who was the noble Ser that I should thank for this pleasure. Surely it was not you, I have seen your aim with a bow.”

Her eyes were filled with jest, yet Jon feigned hurt at her comments.

“You wound me fair lady,” he said while clutching his heart with his hand. “That you would think me so unworthy.”

“Stop it Jon,” she giggled as she gave him a playful shove. “You know I only tease. Tonight maybe I can show you how worthy you really are.”

His eyes went up at that and he leaned closer to whisper into her ear, “I look forward to it.”

The closeness of his body to hers afforded him to detect the shiver that ran down her body at his reply. He kissed her on gently on the cheek and she smiled bashfully ducking away, her arm squeezing tightly to his. The last few days had been uncharted territory for the both of them, each trying to figure out what they meant to one another in light of his revelation. Revealing the secret of his lineage had seemed to strip away the last few barriers that had remained between them.

Someone atop the wall shouted and he came to a stop beside Sansa, gaze suddenly focused once again on the gate. The outriders trotted in first, followed behind by the beginning of the crannogmen. Several of his men stared at the short new arrivals, but most of them were unfazed by the new comers appearance. Although the crannogmen were shorter in stature than most, they really were not all that different. After the men marched women and children. They carried little possessions, only humble sacks strapped to each of their backs.

_Have they fled the dead? Do the White Walkers follow their heals? Is Howland among them?_

The crannogmen were few in comparison to the followers that Jon had already accrued. Yet their coming would do nothing to ease their already strained situation.

_What kind of man would I be if I turned them away. They have no where else to go._

The line began to dwindle now. His men were still in the process of showing the crannogmen where they could temporarily spend the night when Jon caught sight of who he had been waiting for. Howland Reed was bringing up the rear of his people, his daughter Meera walking by his side.

Howland was speaking to his daughter and another in hushed tones, giving instructions of what, Jon did not know. Howland stopped when he caught sight of Jon and Sansa and patted his daughter on the back in quiet dismissal. Meera nodded at Jon briefly in acknowledgment before carrying on, going to complete the orders her father had given her.

Howland bowed before Jon before moving to take Sansa's hand. He leaned over to kiss her hand lightly before relinquishing it and standing up straight once again.

“My Lady. You are as beautiful as your mother ever was. It does me good to see you.”

Sansa shot a sideways glance at Jon before responding.

“You are too kind my lord. But I thank you for your words. What brings you and your people this way?”

His expression turned grave at that as he stared Sansa straight in the eyes.

“Winter, my Lady.” He turned to face Jon at that. “And what comes with it.”

Jon sucked a breath in through his teeth, a seething sound cutting the stillness between them.

“We have much to discuss Lord Reed. Yet here is not the place. Let us adjourn to my solar.”

\------

  
The three were in the warmth of the castle finally. Jon next to Sansa, and Howland across from them forming the three points of a triangle. A warm beverage was placed before the little lord who graciously accepted the drink in silence. He sipped on it as the servant left the room and Jon struggled to keep calm waiting for the lord to speak up.

Eventually, Howland set the drink down after he had had his fill and began to tell his story without further delay,

“After you left Jon, we increased the patrols across the Neck. We watched and waited for the enemy to arrive but they never did. We had begun to hope that they would never arrive. Maybe they were content to rule the North unopposed, but it was not to be.”

“What happened?” Sansa spoke up.

“Winter happened,” Howland replied. “A storm moved into the northern part of the Neck. Our scouts watched closely as it raged but there was no sign of anyone. After the snow had fallen however, that changed.”

Jon tightened one hand on the seat of his chair and the other on Sansa's hand that he had unconsciously grabbed while the man was regaling them with his tale. Howland looked at the two of them curiously but was content for now to continued his story.

“With the freshly snow covered ground came the dead, driven by their masters further south. As the storm moved south, so did they. We yielded ground, unwilling to give fight, heavily outnumbered as we were. It wasn't until the storm reached Greywater Watch that we were forced to make a stand.”

He paused for a minute at that, reaching for the rest of his drink and whetting his throat before beginning again.

“We held them for some time there. The dead seemed unwilling to fight through the swamp where snow had not reached no matter how hard their masters pressed them. Finally though, the skies blanketed the city and hope was lost. We barely got everyone out in time before abandoning Greywater Water. We left it a burning rubble in our wake. I fear it did little to dull their numbers though.”

Jon grasped on to something the man had said.

“You mentioned that the dead seemed unwilling to fight where snow had not fallen. Is that true?”

Howland nodded, “True enough your Grace.”

“So which is it? Do the White Walkers bring the storm? Or do they follow it?”

The man shrugged.

“I wish I could tell you for certain, but I cannot. What I can say is we held the advantage until the snow came. After that, it was as if they were awaken from some slumber, and they fought possessed once more.”

Jon sat there in silence, letting the lords words soak in. He stood up and made for the fire. He banked it, and added another log. Sansa had been rubbing her shoulders during Howlands briefing and he was sure she was feeling the chill in the air. He moved to the window and looked out into the uncharacteristically starry night for this time of year.

Sansa's voice brought him back.

“We thank you Lord Reed for your bravery in the face of such evil. It is good to have you with us. Father always did speak highly of you.”

A far away look appeared in his eyes before he responded.

“I know what our coming does to your position here,” he nodded at them both. “You must be stretched thin as it is, but we had no other option.”

“Nonsense,” Sansa was quick to assuage any doubts the man might have had. “You are most welcome here. Isn't he Jon?”

Jon looked in her direction, the tone in her voice beckoning him to respond quickly.

“Of course you are. After everything you have done for our family. I owe you everything.”

The room was quiet then, Howland held the cup in his hand spinning it around absentmindedly apparently trying to determine what to do next.

Sansa rescued the man.

“While you are here Lord Reed, Jon and I could use your help with something.”

She nudged Jon in the ribs as she spoke and Jon followed her in kind.

“We have received word from King's Landing. Word from the Queen.”

Howland's eyebrows raised at that and Jon handed him the message that he had received from Daenerys. The little man read the note quickly and handed it back to Jon's outstretched hand when he was done.

“What do you intend to do?”

Jon sighed.

“What can I do? At this point I am in no position to be turning away those who would seek to make peace with me. We need all the help we can get.”

Howland nodded in acquiescence as Jon continued.

“Yet can we trust her? My family does not have a good history with King's Landing or with the Targaryens for that matter.”

Sansa spoke up, echoing discussions past that they had been having ever since they had read the invitation from Queen Daenerys.

“Yes,” she spoke softly as though addressing a stubborn child. “Although this time it will not only be the King of the North going to meet the Queen of the South, it will be family meeting each other for the first time.”

“Yet she does not know that,” Jon countered, mirroring the argument they had been having. “Why would she ever believe that I am Rheagar's lost son? She would be mildly offended by my claim at best, and call off the whole deal at worst.”

Howland cut of the argument before it could blossom any further, waving his arms wildly trying to get their attention.

“Wait a minute. Hold on. Jon, you told her everything?”

“Of course,” Jon said in reply as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Why wouldn't I? I trust her with my life.”

Howland cocked his head to the side and stared at the pair as if reevaluating them for the second time since entering the room. Sansa stared at the man, daring him to object but the little lord had nothing.

“It is good you trust her your Grace,” he began carefully trying not to upset either of them. “But I would urge caution in delivering the truth in the future. Jon is right my lady, not everyone knows him like you do. Most outsiders would find his story laughable. We must be careful with how we use this secret.”

“We? Is it we now my Lord,” Sansa replied her tone slightly mocking.

The man bobbed his head, a distinct timbre matching his somber expression.

“I fear it must be for the time being, my Lady. I was charged by your father, Jon's uncle, with protecting him. And I will not stop now. Not while there is life still within me.”

Sansa cast a fierce look in Jon's direction.

“On that Lord Reed, I believe we can both agree.”

\---Sansa---

The next couple of days were spent preparing to leave the Twins. The castle was a whirlwind of activity with many tasks to keep them busy. She saw far too little of Jon during this time, something she hopped she would get the chance to rectify once they were on the road, although she suspected other things would arise to draw his attention. Being King was never an easy task. There was always something that drew his attention and Jon never wavered to give those in need his entire focus. It was one of the things she loved about him.

Howland proved to be a surprisingly effective motivator. She had thought due to his time in seclusion that he might be unsure of himself with the role that Jon had given him, coordinating the departure from the Twins. Jon's judgment had proven solid once again however, and Howland managed, with help from others, to get everyone moving over the course of several days. She was still unsure about the man, even given his ties to Jon and her father. Anyone who could potentially be a threat to Jon was worth keeping an eye on.

The giant meandering column of life made its way south. They had opted to take the passage south on the Kingsroad along the Green Fork verses heading to Riverrun. So far, only a chosen few were aware of their real intentions to head to King's Landing to meet up with the new Targaryen queen.

_I hope meeting this Queen goes better than meeting the last. At this point, what choice do we have?_

Still she was nervous. She had been advocating for this meeting hard with Jon and she hopped that it would not end badly for them.

_If I can just make her see in Jon, what I see in him, I feel our people may finally be safe._

She ached for the chance to spend time with Jon alone. Since that night when Jon had told her of the truth, they had had few quiet moments alone together. The road was not conducive for time spent with one another as she had suspected, although she desperately wished she could show him how much he had grown to mean to her, show him it did not matter who his parents were.

She had to settle for silent touches during the day, or quick words of affection from him at random moments as they rode. Hard days riding always stretched into planning every night, that lasted long after the candles were the only source of light. They were too exhausted for anything else.

Ghost spent the days on the road close by her side. She was grateful for the company. It was almost like having a little piece of Jon by her side even when he was elsewhere. He slept in her tent at night, intent on keeping her safe as she slumbered.

The days moved by with haste, although the women, children and livestock that they brought with them did not. With a not inconsiderable effort, they finally managed to get everyone across the river and to the south side. Jon insisted on helping the wagons cross, although she alongside many of his advisers urged him not to for his safety. His ignored them all, never content to stand idly by while others were toiling away.

It was one such day after, when Jon was helping replace the broken wheel on a decrepit wagon, that Howland rode up beside her and stopped to watch. She was looking on, content to watch him work when the diminutive lord spoke up.

“You have feelings for him don't you.”

_How does he know that? Is it that obvious?_

“What do you mean?” she managed to sputter, flustered.

“The way you look at him...or don't. The way you worry when you think no one is looking. The smile you have for him no matter the circumstances or the day.”

She flushed slightly and looked away.

“Do you think others have noticed?”

He shrugged.

“Perhaps a few. Yet no one would dare say anything. I have had more experience than most though. Your Aunt Lyanna was far better at keeping a secret than you are. Which trust me, isn't always a good thing.”

_Poor dear Lyanna. Loving Rheagar is what got us into this whole mess. Yet it yielded Jon as well..._

She deeply regretted being robbed of the opportunity to get to know her aunt. She would have been a wonderful woman to learn from, not unlike her mother.

“Be careful though my Lady. Where we are going, hidden things have a way of finding the light of day.”

“I know better than most, the manner of those in King's Landing,” she spat growing angry at being reprimanded like a child. “I survived once before, it does not frighten me now.”

Howland nodded sadly.

“I did not mean to offend you Lady Sansa. I only meant to give caution. We have few true friends in the city and sometimes those who offer their hand in peace, are those who are quickest to stab you in the back with it.”

\------

They were close now. The road grew wider as they approached King's Landing. They passed through an area that had been decimated by deforesting. Hundreds of tree stumps stood guard, the rest of the wood shipped off elsewhere for what, Sansa did not know. The outriders ranged farther ahead and to the side now. If there was to be an ambush now, Jon wanted to be given plenty of warning in order to have time to get the women and children to relative safety.

The scouts reported prints of what appeared to be bands of horsemen roaming in large amounts. There was even a report that a group of men were seen just watching them from a distance. Yet when the scouts had moved to approach, the mysterious riders had vanished with uncanny speed. Jon was on edge and nothing Sansa could do or say could keep keep his blood from rising. It was as if he had some sixth sense that warned him of upcoming danger.

The banners of House Stark were prominently displayed as they rode, along with the many other banners of the houses that rode with them. Queen Daenerys was expecting them, or so they still hoped and they fully intended to make their peaceful intentions known before any misunderstanding could occur.

They rode through what appeared to have once been an encampment. From the looks of it, it had been used in the not too distant past. King's Landing's walls began to appear in front of them as they lumbered closer.

The ground between them and the city was completely ruined. Great war machines dotted the landscape, many broken and abandoned. Large scorch marks covered the earth in black pockmarks, and divots of soil were misplaced where projectiles had fallen while the defenders still held the city. The wall itself was scored in many places and several large breeches were present. The city looked nothing like it had when she arrived with her father those many years ago.

She looked at Jon in hesitation and he looked back at her trying to make his face look reassuring.

_What if I was wrong in urging him to bring us here? What if this Queen turns on us now while we wait outside her walls?_

Movement at the gate drew her eye and Jon tensed as mounted men began to approached them at an alarming pace. He appeared on the verge of ordering his men to form up at the head of the column when Sansa caught sight of what she had been looking for and turned to Jon.

“Jon, look!” She pointed in the direction of those approaching.

The men galloping towards them were large and fierce looking. They had long hair of varying lengths and thicknesses and many had beards and tattoos. Their horses easily matched them, large sturdy beasts whose size belied their quickness. Yet despite their appearance, Sansa took heart in the flags they were flying.

The brilliant black and red Targaryen sigil adorned the largest of the flags but next to it was a large white flag as well, the universal sign of peace. A small beautiful dark skinned woman rode in the midst of these terrifying warriors and now she urged her horse to step forward ahead of the rest of her comrades.

Jon took one look at her approach and moved to mirror it, Sansa followed close behind, not even bothering to look and see if any others were following. The woman stopped before them and looked at both of them in turn before beginning to speak with only a trace of an accent.

“Are you Jon Snow? The one who calls himself the King in the North?”

“I am,” he replied steadily and without looking away from the newcomers gaze.

_Many men might grow angry at that subtle slight. People have been doubting him his whole life. Let them continue. It makes his rise all the more sweet._

She looked at him sitting in the saddle, back as straight as an arrow. He wore no crown and was dressed in simple clothing yet still the woman had recognized him by his bearing alone.

“My name is Missandei. I come before you today on behalf of Daenerys,” the woman began speaking loudly but clearly in a very experienced tone of voice. “Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons to King's Landing. In her name, I welcome you to the city.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand why the show hasn't gone the Lady Stoneheart route, even if I do not like it, but she is too great to ignore for this story!
> 
> So I am thinking of doing a Gilly and baby Sam one-off next chapter. Who's excited?! 
> 
> Just kidding...you know what is coming!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who continue to follow the story, you have my thanks. I only hope that this story can help make the Long Night until Season 7 at least a little more bearable.

 

\---Daenerys---

She was drowning in paper. Her hand ached from signing documents all day. She leaned back in her chair and sighed, shaking her hand while doing so. She reached unconsciously with her other hand and rubbed her sore wrist.

_It was never this bad in Meereen was it? Sure the city was tearing itself apart and there was danger at ever turn, but this might be worse._

The level of bureaucracy associated with becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was astonishing. For the most part, what was left of the aristocrats in the city continued on with life as normal under her rule. While she had no doubt they resented her outside rise to power, they had no choice but to comply at this point. Not with Drogon and Viserion a constant threat flying overhead.

_If only Rheagal was with them._

Her child had been confined to the Dragonpit ever since she had taken the city, and still there was no change in his health. She steeled herself to return to the rest of the days work that she had ahead, when a knock on the door saved her for the time being. A servant entered the room and bowed low.

“Your Grace, it appears the Northerners have arrived.”

She stood up at once.

“They have? How many are with them?”

The servant hesitated before answering.

“All of them. Or so it would appear.”

Her eyes went wide at that.

_I sent the invite to him in peace. Did he take it as a sign of weakness and decide to move against me?_

She strode out of the room boldly, several guards following in her wake. She made for the Great Hall and was almost there when her path intersected with her Hand.

“Have you heard Lord Tyrion? Jon has answered my summons?”

“Indeed he has,” Tyrion agreed gruffly. “Although why he brought the whole bloody North with him is beyond me. He has some explaining to do...”

The pair continued at a brisk pace, heading for the Iron Throne. They reached the foot of the throne and Daenerys quickly climbed the steps and took her place, sitting carefully down in her seat. Tyrion took his spot beside her and the two waited impatiently.

Minutes went by and a commotion at the end of the hall caught their attention. It was not who they were expecting however, and Daenerys could not help but let her face fall in disappointment.

_Doesn't he know, you should never keep a Queen waiting._

It was Lord Varys approaching, the bald man walking as serenely as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He came before her and he gave a little bow before eyeing Tyrion and taking his place opposite him beside her. She tapped her foot on the floor impatiently. Voices echoed in the hallway outside the Great Hall and another set of arrivals appeared. Grey Worm, flanked by Yara marched down the middle of the hall with the discipline that only years of constant conflict could instill.

Yara saved her from asking the question on the tip of her tongue.

“They come your Grace. They were right behind us when we entered the building.”

Daenerys sat up a little straighter in her chair, suddenly growing nervous.

_What if he says no?_

She was prevented from further internal debate by the arrival of their long awaited guests. In walked a small procession, led by Missandei herself. Several of the Unsullied flanked the newcomers loosely, trying not to give an unfriendly appearance. In the middle walked those she had been waiting for.

A tall beautiful woman with fiery red hair seemed to glide instead of walk down the hall. She held her head high as she moved.

_That, is not a woman to be trifled with._

Another man with red hair, though rougher looking, almost like a Dothraki with short hair, walked among the party. Next to him was another, slightly older man, whose hair was peppered with gray along with his beard. A giant woman towered over them all dressed from head to toe in armor.

_Neither is that._

Several other members of the northern party were present as well but when she caught sight of him, all thought of the others flew out of her mind.

He was not much taller than her, yet he walked with a grace and confidence that demanded respect. A large coat adorned with the fur of a wolf sat curled around his shoulders. His long curly hair was pulled back behind his head. His expression was somber, this was a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, not unlike herself.

She almost gasped when she noticed the giant creature walking beside him. A large wolf, as white as snow and larger than any she had ever seen, padded alongside him. Its red eyes stood out in contrast to its white fur and while its master was somber, the wolf's lips were pulled back, its tongue hanging out in a grin as if to make up for its master's lack of levity.

As the group drew closer her attention shifted back to the man who could only be Jon, his sharp features came into focus and she caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were gray, so dark that they bordered on black. She gazed at them and he stared right back with an intensity that caused her to grip her chair tightly. Finally they stopped at the foot of the throne and Daenerys let out the breath that she realized she had been holding the entire time.

_It would do me no good to sound like a breathless little girl the first time they hear me speak._

Missandei stepped forward before her and began the introductions.

“Your Grace,” she began. “I present to you Jon Snow.”

Daenerys stood as Missandei spoke and the party of Northerners at her feet bowed in response. All save for one. She eyed him carefully as she slowly descended the steps leading down from the Iron Throne. She reached the base of the stairs and he cocked his head slightly sideways, his jaw clenched seemingly unapologetic.

Silence filled the room as the onlookers waited. The tension was palpable between the two. Finally Jon spoke first.

“So you are the dragon Queen.”

The red haired woman beside him gasped audibly but Daenerys could only laugh at his bluntness.

“And you must be the wolf King. I have heard many tales about you Jon Snow.”

He huffed at that in response.

“Only good things I hope.”

The apprehension that had been building in the room seemed to lessen. Everyone let out a collective breathe as it appeared that two monarchs might actually meet and be civil with one another for the first time in Westerosi history.

She wondered how best to continue when her Hand stepped forward.

“Snow,” he addressed Jon. “It appears you took my advice. You have come a long way since last we met.”

Jon shifted his gaze from her to Tyrion.

“Lannister. It seems the same thing could be said about you. How you came to serve this one is a story I would love to hear.”

The two grinned and stepped forward, the dwarf and the bastard grasped each others arms in greeting.

“You know me,” Tyrion quipped. “The only thing I love more than hearing a good story is telling it.”

“Some time then, after everything here is settled. We have many things to discuss.”

Tyrion nodded, stepping away and turning to face the woman standing beside Jon. He addressed her then, his voice level and cordial.

“Lady Sansa. I hope this day finds you well.”

“It does, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa replied head nodding slightly as she spoke. An awkward silence fell between them and Daenerys wondered what the whole story between the two was. Tyrion had told her of his history but clearly not everything. A rustle in the back of the crowd ended the silence quickly and a young man stepped forward.

“Pod?”

Tyrion took one look at the lad and the two rushed to greet one another.

_Is there anyone here he does not know? As if I needed any more evidence I made the right choice naming him my Hand. He has connections with all of Westeros._

The two sides broke out into easy discussion at that. Grey Worm, Missandei and Varys introducing themselves to the new arrivals. She caught snippets of the conversation, hearing names such as Davos, Tormund, Lyanna and Howland Reed bandied about.

Sansa approached her after several minutes of conversation with Missandei, the two woman laughing over something that Daenerys was not able to hear. She curtsied slightly to Daenerys and she smiled back in return.

“It is good to meet you Sansa Stark. I have heard precious little of you, but from what I have heard, I admire. It is good that Jon has someone like you by his side.”

She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered.

“After all, we women know where the true power lies.”

Sansa looked back at her as if trying to measure Daenerys up. She nodded towards the throne.

“With you sitting on the Throne instead of those drunkards and madmen from before, maybe now the realm can finally have peace.”

Sansa blushed at that, as if suddenly remembering that Daenerys was related to one of those men she was referencing. Daenerys waved her worry away.

“Do not worry. I know what my father was. Every day I rule, I remind myself of what power can do if allowed to go unchecked. I will not follow him down that path.

Sansa looked relieved and Daenerys continued.

“Tell me Sansa, what of your brother. What kind of leader is he?”

A softness crept into the corners of the young woman's eyes as she spoke, her eyes gazing into the distance.

“Jon is the best man I know. Determined to do the right thing even if it would kill him. He gives everything to his people expecting nothing in return.”

Daenerys shifted in place.

“It appears he inspires great loyalty in those around him, including you. An admirably trait in these difficult times.”

Sansa looked back at her, straight in the eyes and a steely resolve crept into her voice.

“I would do anything for him. Give anything to protect him.”

Daenerys nodded in approval.

“I would expect nothing less from someone I have chosen to enter into an alliance with. Know this Sansa Stark. I do not do this lightly. Putting my faith in others has never come easy to me. The fact remains that I cannot rule these Seven Kingdoms peacefully without his help.”

“Then you have come to the right man,” Sansa said head held high. “Although I must warn you, his aid will not come without a price.”

Daenerys stared across the crowd away from the woman, and noticed Jon still staring at her with a fervor that sent a shiver racing across her skin.

_Neither will mine._

\------

After a long time spent in introductions, Daenerys requested that they retire to more private chambers to further discuss the on goings of the realm, and the potential alliance between the two sides. They made for the Tower of the Hand. It was where Tyrion had been conducting business ever since they had taken King's Landing, and now they had other important matters to discuss. The Hands Chambers were considered some of the most private in the city and she was fully confident in Tyrion's abilities to lead the negotiations.

Tyrion led off, regaling the guests with how he came to serve a queen on the far side of the world. Daenerys filled in her backstory as he spoke, bit by bit, when he paused requesting more information from her. Slowly but surely, her tale unfolded. She expected many of the these Northerners to be incredulous or even openly question the validity of her story. The things she had encountered and endured were unlike any other. Or so she thought.

When Tyrion was done speaking. Jon filled the void without hesitation, proceeding to weave a story that rivaled hers and worthy of many a song. Finally, after multiple quiet interjections from Sansa, he was done and he looked at her questioningly as if daring her to invalidate any of his claims.

“It would seem,” she began slowly. “That we were meant to meet Jon Snow. And with this threat upon us, these White Walkers, we both have much work to do to ensure the survival of our new kingdom.”

Jon looked back at her, then to Tyrion and then nodded, leaning back into his chair.

Tyrion cleared his throat and picked up the thread of conversation from there.

“Jon what we are prepared to offer you and your people is an alliance in every sense of the word. We will provide food, shelter and protection to help your people ride out this upcoming winter. You can even continue to call yourself King once the North has been retaken. In return, we would ask that you support Daenerys' rightful claim to the Iron Throne. Help her defend the crown, and answer her call when she would raise her banners and this alliance can be made.”

Jon was quiet a bit before he began to reply.

“My father used to say, 'The winters are hard, but the Starks will endure. We always have.'”

He was silent then again and she wondered what he was thinking.

“The North is used to the quiet. We are use to being left alone to our own devices. We have lived our lives for generations, mostly avoiding the conflicts of the realm. The times we have ventured south, tragedy has befallen us. Yet now, tragedy has brought us south. Winter has come, and we cannot weather it alone. All of Westeros must stand together if we are to survive what is to come.”

He stood then and made his way towards her. She stood automatically in response to his approach, all eyes in the room on the pair of them. He came before her and stopped.

“Your family did terrible things to mine. My father rode south to fight yours. We have been at odds for many years and there is no great love for the Targaryen name in the North. Yet I am not my father, and you are not yours.”

He hesitated then, looking back at Sansa before continuing.

“Times change. And as I am constantly reminded, we have to adapt with them.”

He held out his arm before her, hand extended.

“If these are your terms, then I accept, and I thank you on behalf of my people for your gracious offer.”

She smiled then, and reached out her hand to his. Their two hands met, sealing North and South in friendship.

_And maybe more. He accepted before I could even state my second request._

Jon lifted her hand up and his head bent slightly, lips lightly grazing her knuckles as the room became a hive of activity. Everyone around the table rose to shake hands with one another in eagerness as a sign of friendship.

A tingle raced down her arm at the contact between the two of them and continued its way down her spine. His touch was electric, and she shivered slightly as she let go of his hand. If he noticed, he did not show it. She stared after him as he turned away and made his way back to Sansa. The pair embraced in a hug, the young lady's face was visible above his shoulder, smiling wide.

She knew now was the time to bring up the marriage proposal between their two houses, yet something kept her from doing so.

_What is this? Fear of him rejecting your offer? Fear of him accepting? Since when have you been afraid of anything?_

Tyrion looked at her curiously. He knew there was more to their deal, and that Jon had accepted without hearing all of the terms of their alliance.

The words of the Undying once again came upon her unbidden and she shivered at their memory. She shook her head at Tyrion slightly, signaling him to stand down for the time being. The room buzzed with life, both sides excited to be making peace for once instead of war.

She took her place in her seat at the head of the table as Tyrion struggled to regain control of the room. Finally he was able to bring everyone back on topic and discussion regarding the logistics and minutiae of their integration ensued. Her concentration wavered as Tyrion spoke. She found herself time and again dragging her gaze back from the opposite end of the table where Jon sat to focus on some question Tyrion had just asked.

_This alliance may be good for the realm, but I am sure in trouble._

_\---_ Tyrion _\---_

The meeting had gone surprisingly well. Except for the minor detail of marriage between the two houses of course that had not been addressed. He had seen the look on Daenerys' face when she first caught glimpse of Jon. It was the same look every lady gave Jaime when they first caught sight of him. Tyrion sighed.

_You know her better than that. She is not some maid, chasing after the first pretty boy to pay her any attention. She is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Mother of Dragons. She fears nothing!_

Yet still, she had seemed different when meeting Jon, almost shy. It was not very obvious, and to most, it would not have been noticeable. But he had spent enough time with her to know when she was acting even a little bit unlike herself.

_Like that last night with Daario Naharis._

He had no question that she would do what she was meant to do, rule Westeros. And he would be there every step of the way, to ensure her reign would be a long one. Right now however, he had to face one of his own problems that he had been running away from for far to long.

After his meeting today with Jon and the rest of his party from the North, he could no longer delay the inevitable. His feet were taking him to the room where his brother resided long before he even noticed that was where he was going. He was afraid of his reunion with his brother, afraid ever since the city had fallen and he had been informed that the Kingslayer was still alive and held captive in a holding cell.

_A competent adviser does not run from problems, does not shy away from meeting with his brother in prison. You owe him this much at least._

He had been close with his brother before. Jaime held a soft spot for him, at least that is what Tyrion liked to believe. But he had always had to defend that love of kin to his father and sister. Not a small task, even considering Tyrion's size. Last time they had seen one another, Tyrion had been imprisoned and Jaime had come to his rescue. He guessed Jaime did not want the same from him, even if he would have offered.

Several guards were posted outside a stout looking wooden door with iron reinforcements crossing the wooden planks. The guards recognized him upon his arrival and they saluted him.

“I would have a word with my brother.”

The two guards looked at one another but gave no objection. One reached for the door and unbolted the lock keeping the door firmly shut. Tyrion was ushered inside and the guards shut the door behind him. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust but once they did, he inspected his brothers cell.

It was simple yet neat. Humble but clean. There was little in the way of furniture, but the floors and walls were clear of debris, and several small windows near the top of the walls let in light. Jaime was laying on the lone bed, a small thing, not nearly as luxurious as his brother was used to after living his life as a Lannister.

Jaime lay there with one arm by his side, the other draped over his brow, blocking any light from reaching his eyes. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was most likely asleep. Tyrion hated to wake him from his slumber, but he had finally worked up the courage to make his way here. If he left now without saying something, who knew how long it might take before he would return.

He coughed loudly, and when that had no effect, he knocked sharply on the table nearby three times. Jaime turned on his side, his arm falling from his eyes and stared at Tyrion with a blank expression. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and focused again on the intruder.

A look of disgust crossed his face and Tyrion tried not to let it hurt. It still did. Jaime rolled over again until his back was facing Tyrion and grunted.

“What are you doing here? Are you here to gloat?”

Tyrion struggled to put the many roiling emotions he was feeling into words.

“No brother, never. I am here to see how you are doing.”

A quick laugh escaped from Jaime.

“Really? You have had days to visit me and only now you have decided to do so.”

Tyrion turned away until both of their backs were facing each other and spoke quietly.

“I didn't know if you would want to see me.”

“I didn't,” Jaime replied roughly. “And I don't now either.”

Tyrion sighed turning around again.

“Why must we fight? I know we find ourselves in an...awkward situation now but we are family. You are the only family I have left in this world.”

Jaime turned on him eyes flashing.

“And who's fault is that?! You killed our father!”

“And you killed our sister!” Tyrion snarled back.

The air went out of Jaime then, and he curled up, attempting to make himself as small as possible.

Sorrow washed over Tyrion.

_Good job. The one member of your family who ever treated you with any kindness and this is how you repay him? Sister was right, you are a monster._

A small voice echoed from the bed.

“They call me Queenslayer you know.”

Jaime turned once again to face him, his eyes hauntingly empty.

“The guards, the servants, everyone. Never would I have thought I would miss they day when people taunted me with Kingslayer.”

Tyrion's heart went out to his brother, but there was nothing he could say that would make his plight any better.

“She asked me to do it you know,” Jaime continued.

“At the end, she begged me to. Did she know what she was asking of me?”

“I can't imagine...” Tyrion began. “I can't imagine what you had to go through. I am so sorry Jaime.”

Jaime sat up on the edge of the bed, supporting himself with his arms.

“We were born together, grew up together. I just assumed we would grow old and die together.”

He looked Tyrion right in the eye.

“What is there left? What do I have left Tyrion.”

“Me,” Tyrion whispered very low, preparing himself for the mocking response that was sure to come.

Jaime looked him up and down and responded not unkindly.

“Aye, I guess I do.”

Tyrion looked at him in surprise at that.

_Maybe not all is lost. Maybe there is hope for us yet._

He began pacing back and forth.

“There is much I would tell you. Much you should know. The Starks have arrived from the North. Daenerys has offered Jon an alliance and he has accepted.”

“Jon Snow? Ned's boy? There were rumors he had come to power in the North but I assumed they were just that.”

Tyrion shook his head.

“No. Indeed the Stark bastard has risen far. His acceptance of our terms was not out of convenience however, but necessity. A foe has arisen in the North far deadlyer than any the Seven Kingdoms have faced. Winter comes, and with it the White Walkers.”

Jaime let out a bitter laugh at that.

“Surely you don't believe that old tale, do you brother?”

“I do,” Tyrion nodded solemnly. “And more importantly, so does our queen. She has promised Jon aid in the fight to come in return for his fealty.”

“I imagine that was tough for the lad to swallow. The Starks hold their honor closely. Bending the knee never came easy to them.”

“Yes, Jon Snow may not hold the Stark name, but there is none who reminds me more of old Ned Stark. Yet he knows when to accept the hand offered in peace. Once the Winter is bested, the North and South will be united as never before.”

Jaime squinted and looked closely at him then.

“She means to offer marriage. Daenerys, does she not? What better way to bring the entirety of the North under her influence.”

Tyrion exhaled.

“She does. She needs an heir. And tying her name to one of the oldest and most resilient houses remaining seemed like the only option.”

Jaime huffed.

“Another arranged marriage, huh? Cause those always turn out so well.”

“We must pray for our sake that this time, things turn out differently.”

He paused before continuing cautiously.

“We could use someone like you for what is to come. I could use you.”

Jaime lay back down in his bed, hands tucked behind his head, his eyes stared straight ahead at the ceiling.

“What use could you possible have for me Tyrion. I am a middling fighter at best. You always had the brains. And now, I have no wealth, no power and my family name is shit.”

Tyrion shrugged.

“That all may be true, but I need every hand I can get if I am going to hold this city together. And with the thousands of new arrivals we just received, my job just became infinitely harder.”

“Good luck with that baby brother. Unfortunately, I am afraid I am of no use to you.”

He continued mockingly.

“Let me know when the monsters are at the gate. Maybe then I can bring myself to help. Until then, let me suffer in solitude. That is the least I deserve.”

Tyrion took that as a dismissal and made for the door. He turned around and glanced at his brothers form one more time

_Let us pray it does not come to that brother. Let us pray._

_\---Arya---_

Arya bounced down the damp stone hallway juggling three loaves of bread in her hands. Up then down, up then down. King's Landing buzzed with an infectious energy that had taken hold of her along with everyone else in the city. She was cloaked in the garb of a servant, her simple clothing allowed her to travel unhindered throughout the Red Keep.

The kitchen had been bustling with movement since before dawn and she had done what she could to help. She found that she rather enjoyed the simple life of one in service to the new queen of the realm. The cooks, cleaners, and other small folk she interacted with on a daily basis now spoke openly in praise of their new queen, where with her predecessor, they spoke only in hushed tones. It appeared that so far, Daenerys had kept her word.

She hummed to herself as she continued to amble forward. A pair of servant girls giggled quietly as they passed her by but Arya just ignored them. She had someplace to be. The King of the North was visiting King's Landing and her work was just beginning.

She turned the corner that lead into a large sun lit room. Beds anchored to the walls sat in many rows with a walkway like a column leading right down the middle. A sweet smell was in the air, and Arya wrinkled her nose in displeasure. Men groaned as she passed them juggling, some reached out at her and others made comments in passing. Finally she reached her target.

He was larger than most, too large for the bed that he now lay upon. The Hound appeared like any other man, albeit bigger and a little scarier than most with his scared face, but he was not. His left arm, or lack thereof, was but one of the many things that set him apart from most. A heavily bandaged stump by his shoulder was all that remained of his once shattered limb. The maesters had been unsure if he would make it after his fight with his brother in the throne room. Arya never doubted for a second.

She stopped at the foot his bed and waited patiently. She took a bite out of the warm, freshly baked bread she had brought. Finally, the Hound stirred in his bed. He opened one eye, squinting out cautiously so as not to blind himself while investigating his new intruder. He opened another eye and grunted at her when he finally recognized her.

“I see you are still dressing up as that ugly mutt.”

His voice was hoarse and garbled. Arya rolled her eyes, set the bread down on the stand next to him, and moved to find some water for him. On a station a little ways from his bed sat a small beaker with several cups beside it. She moved to fill him a glass of water and then returned to his side once she was finished.

He eyed her as he took it, quickly downing the glass and holding it up for her expectantly. She sighed and moved to fill it up again. Once it was in his hands again, he drank half of the contents before finally appearing sated for the time being.

“Good to see you too. I'm surprised you made it through. And only barely worse for wear.”

He looked at her and then to his side where his arm no longer was and gave her a deadpan look.

She shrugged and continued, “I mean it could have been worse.”

“Aye, I guess it could have. I see you made it through alright. Killed Cersei too I bet.”

Arya was silent at that and she looked away into the distance.

The Hound said nothing but pointed at the bread lazily.

Arya pouted.

“Just cause I dress like this does not mean I am here to serve _you.”_

Still, she moved to pick up the bread and handed it too him.

They sat in silence as he ate. He chewed ravenously, the hunger of his time spent unconscious catching up with him. He finished the first loaf and moved onto the second one. Halfway through the second load of bread he paused.

“Got any chicken?”

She laughed then and shook her head.

“Rations are tight enough as it is. Anything the city can spared is being prepared for some kind of citywide celebration tonight to mark the arrival of my brother. You are lucky I was able to sneak that out of the kitchen today.”

The Hound looked at her questioningly.

“Your brother? I thought all your brothers were dead.”

“This one is very much alive. Jon Snow, my half brother, and newly appointed King of the North. Apparently Daenerys offered him some kind of deal and he accepted. Tonight is in celebration of that new alliance.”

The Hound continued to eat but stopped and looked at her suspiciously.

“Have you seen him yet?”

She stood up and turned around so that he could not see her expression when she spoke. Her voice held strong, yet her lip quivered as she answered him.

“Not yet. I am sure he has been busy, him being king now and all. Plus, I can do him more good working from the shadows. A servant has access to a surprising amount of places here in the Red Keep.”

_Would he even still accept me if he knew what I have done? What I have become. And Sansa, we never were on the best of terms even before King's Landing._

The Hound mumbled through a mouth full of the bread.

“Sounds like you are being a coward to me.”

She whirled on him angrily.

“What do you know of family? You killed the only brother you ever had.”

“I killed him alright. And he bloody deserved it. And you are right, I know little of what you are going through. But the Arya Stark I know never ran from her fear. Where is that girl now? You can only hide behind that boy's face for so long.”

She sat down deflated at his admonishment.

_The Hound is right. Who would ever have thought I would be taking advice from him one day?_

“You...may be right. He has need of me. And not just what the Stark girl Arya can bring to the table. She may seem friendly now, but I have seen the worst of what this city has to offer. Should Daenerys decide Jon is no longer of any use as an ally, I will be ready. I may have not been there for Robb, but now I am here for Jon.”

The Hound looked at her and laughed.

“The Dragon Queen better pray she never gets on your bad side.”

\------

Arya padded up to the door softly. Muffled voices echoed from inside the room. A different world waited on the other side of the door. One that she had forsaken long ago. She hesitated before moving to knock on the door.

_What do I say? What will they say?_

She steeled herself. She couldn't simple hang around their doorpost all day. She either had to go and face what was left of her family, or turn around and continue to run from her past.

_Now is not the time for second thoughts. They need you, as much as you need them._

She knocked on the door, then stood with both hands behind her back, feet spread apart a little wider than her shoulder width. The voices inside the room stopped, and she heard footsteps moving towards the door. Panic began to rise in her chest and she thought for a second about bolting, but then the door was open and it was too late. A boy, no, a man looked out at her and for a moment, she forgot who or where she was.

Jon had grown up. He had grown taller, although not by much. His frame had always been lean, but now under his simple tunic, she could see that he had packed on muscle due to the years spent training and fighting with the Nights Watch. His hair was longer, although still as curly as it had always been and his beard was thicker than she remembered. Several scars marked his face, remnants left over from some conflict he had endured long ago, maybe even years ago.

Her heart ached at the sight of him, knowing how much of his life she had missed. They had always been close. Jon understood her unlike any other in her family. She had made her peace with the fact that she would most likely never see him again, but here he was now, standing before her and she was lost for words.

He looked at her confused. She realized she had been standing there for far too long without saying anything.

“Gods you look like father,” she whispered breathlessly.

The confused look on Jon's face only deepened.

“I am sorry,” he spoke up now. “I do not know what you are talking about. Do you have a message for me?”

_Right. He thinks I am a serving boy here to deliver a message._

She composed herself and began.

“I do your Grace. The message is 'Stick em with the pointy end'.”

An alarmed look spread over Jon's face and he stared at her incredulously.

“Who told you to tell me that? Speak boy. Now!”

A voice came from behind him.

“Jon? Who is it?”

Jon opened the door a little wider and the second occupant of the room came into view.

_She looks so like mother._

Sansa had grown taller, much taller. She had grown more beautiful as well. At one point in her life, this would have only inspired jealousy. But now, looking at her long flowing red hair and perfect figure, all Arya could think of was how happy she was to see her sister alive once again. She struggled to maintain control over her emotions, lest she start crying then and there.

Jon looked to Sansa then.

“This boy just gave me a message. Something that I told Arya last we spoke in Winterfell before I left for the Wall.”

Sansa's eyes went wide.

“Well don't just stand there Jon. Invite him in.”

She beckoned at Arya to follow her inside and she obliged. Jon peeked his head out into the hallway to ensure that no one was around and then apparently satisfied, he closed the door behind them and turned to face her. He spoke in a grave voice as he advanced on her.

“Those words were spoken to someone I cared for very dearly. Be careful what you say next.”

Sansa shushed him and cut in front of him stopping his advance.

“Stop it Jon,” she admonished him. “Can't you see you are scaring the poor thing?”

Arya regarding their whole interaction with disbelief. Sansa had regarded Jon with a haughty sense of disdain when they were children but now there was an ease and a sincere sense of familiarity between the two of them.

The pair turned on Arya expectantly as if waiting for her to explain her intrusion into their lives.

_It is now or never._

She slowly reached up under her chin and in one smooth motion ripped away the facade that had been obscuring her true identity.

Sansa gasped audibly, hands going to her face, and Jon cursed, reaching to his belt for his sword which was not there. She stood there waiting, wondering if either of them would even recognize her. Finally, Sansa spoke up through a hushed tone.

“Arya? Can it be? Is that you?”

She was choked up as she tried to respond, her throat working against her, but she was able to get out one word.

“Yes.”

Sansa rushed forward and embraced her in a huge hug while Jon stood there immobile with a look of disbelief on his face. Arya returned the hug in kind, wrapping her arms around her sisters frame.

“How is this happening?” Sansa sobbed through tears now. “I can't believe it is really you.”

Sansa pulled back, her hands still placed on Arya's shoulders. Sansa studied her face as if committing it to memory before finally letting go of her entirely. Arya turned to face Jon who was still standing there in shock. She couldn't take it any longer.

She flew towards him, launching herself at him. In response he reached out his arms and caught her. She was not as little as she had once been, but she was still small enough that he handled her easily. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. No words were exchanged. No words were needed. The two of them had been inseparable growing up and being reunited with her long lost brother was two much for Arya to bear.

She broke down crying in his arms. He felt like home, and for a second she could imagine that they had never left Winterfell at all, and she was still in his arms thanking him for giving her Needle. They were not though, and after what felt like an entirely too short amount of time, she let go and he let her fall the short distance back down to the floor on her feet.

Jon's dark eyes were glistening with tears and she wiped away her own with the back of her hand.

“Arya-” he began but then he stopped, unable to continue. Sansa approached him then, and placed one hand on his side before turning to her and placing the other on her shoulder.

“Whatever story you might have Arya. It can wait. We are together now, the three of us. And that is all that matters.”

Arya smiled at both of them, finally regaining some semblance of her composure.

“That is why I came to see you Jon. I have come to offer you my services.”

He said nothing, he only stared at her with a half dazed look on his face as if he still could not believe what was right in front of him. He shook his head gently, as if clearing his mind and his dark curls shook as he did. He looked at her for the first time with clear eyes.

“You need not offer anything Arya. You are welcome here, more than welcome here by my side.”

She looked down bashfully.

“Thank you Jon. I want nothing but to be by your side, she nodded in Sansa's direction. “And yours as well Sansa. But I have another alternative I would propose.”

Sansa and Jon were quiet at that but he beckoned her to continue.

“This...disguise,” she pointed at herself. “This is not all I can do. I have other...talents.”

At that she reached back between her shoulder blades and drew forth Needle. The sword had been wrapped up and well hidden in the bulky folds of the servants garb she was wearing. She held it in her hands outstretched towards Jon.

“This sword, this sword that you gave me Jon, has saved my life more times than I can count. I have fought across the Narrow Sea and back. I have avenged our family. If you would have me Jon, I pledge my life and my sword to you. For this day, and all the days to come.”

A look of pride flashed over Jon's face as he took the sword from her open hands. He ran his hand down the flat of the blade inspecting it before handing it back to Arya solemnly. Sansa looked on somewhat confused by the significance of the whole proceeding.

“Arya Stark. I accept your life and your sword, and know that mine are yours as well. But still, I do not understand why you can't join us officially. We are at peace with the Targaryens.”

“Peace for now,” Arya retorted as she quickly sheathed her sword. “But who knows what the Winter holds. Let me join your retinue, as staff, support, servant whatever you see fit. In return, I can be your eyes and ears. Let me defend you from those threats we have not yet discovered.”

Sansa spoke up then.

“Arya is correct. Right now we have the advantage. We have someone we can trust implicitly that no one else knows about.”

She looked at Arya a question on her tongue.

“No one else knows about you right?”

Arya thought of the Hound but dismissed him.

“More or less.”

Sansa continued.

“This is something we cannot ignore.”

Jon looked back and forth between them both before settling his heavy gaze upon Sansa.

“You pushed for this alliance with the Targaryens. You said it was for the good of our people. And now you would have a spy to watch over them? Do you not trust them?”

Sansa stared right back at him undaunted.

“I trust Daenerys to act in her own best self interest. As I am in our own. As long as we are of use to one another, our interests align.”

“And if the day ever comes where that is no longer the case,” she turned and glanced at Arya. “We will be ready.”

A fierce wave of love for her sister rolled over Arya, unlike any she had ever felt before.

_We have all changed in many ways unseen._

“It is settled then,” Jon spoke resolutely. “You will join my staff and use your disguise to blend in. I suppose we will have to give you a different name...”

He stopped at that, lost in thought before continuing light shining in his eyes.

“But know this. This arrangement will only last as long is I see fit. You are my blood Arya Stark, and should any danger befall you, I will not hesitate to drop this ruse and nothing will stop me from ensuring your safety.”

He reached out and took Sansa's hand squeezing it tight. Sansa gazed back at him with a look of admiration.

“I would do no less for any of my family.”

Arya nodded, another round of emotion threatening to overtake her as she moved into his arm gesturing her to come close for another hug that encompassed the three of them at once. Jon's chin rested on her head as he spoke.

“So now that that is out of the way with. I am a bit curious to find out what you have been up to all this time.”

He moved his head so he could get a better look at her face as she replied and she did so with a wry smile.

“Well, where to begin...”

\---Jon---

The feast turned out to be a raucous affair. The city's supply of food was limited, and so the meal served was not as extravagant as it would normally have been. Indeed it was simple and plain. The same thing was served throughout the entire city that night, the celebration extending all the way from the Red Keep to the darkest, meanest corners of the city. The one thing that was not lacking was wine and all kinds of other assorted spirits.

Jon had indulged in more than he usually would have. He was in an especially good mood tonight though, and for once he was determined to let loose and have a little fun. He had danced many times with Sansa as the night progressed. He only wished that Arya could be there with him to share this moment. He caught glimpses of her throughout the night, lurking in the background, eyes constantly on the move.

The crowd had egged him on and roared their approval when he finally found the courage to ask Daenerys to dance as well. The crowd reach euphoric heights when the two monarchs finally came together on the dance floor for the first time, and in spite of his initial nervousness he had actually enjoyed himself. He only hoped she had done the same.

The common folk were determined to party until the sun rose the next day, but Jon's day had been taxing, both emotionally and physically and after reveling for far longer than he thought he would, he finally decided he had had enough. Sansa had departed with a coquettish look on her face a while ago and Jon was eager to find her in a place much less crowded than this.

His chamber door was slightly ajar when he reached it, and he smiled when he thought of who was awaiting his arrival. He slipped inside. His room was colder than most, no fire burned in the hearth. He found the ambient temperature of the south more than warm enough for his liking and was loath to have a fire burning in his room. His room was dark, yet still he could make out a figure standing by the window, the moonlight glowing off her hair.

As he drew closer, he stopped. The figure was too short, and her hair was blond, not the auburn coloring he was expecting.

_What is she doing here?_

He fumbled his way to his bedside stand in the dark. After several unsuccessful attempts, he finally succeeded in lighting the stumpy candle that rested in the metal candlestick. The light it gave off was poor, yet it was still enough. He looked up, and staring back at him with purple eyes was Daenerys Targaryen.

_I was wrong. Her hair is more silver than blonde._

“Your Grace. What are you doing here?”

“Please. No need for formalities Jon. It grows tiresome. Call me Daenerys.”

Her voice was slightly slurred as she spoke.

_It appears I am not the only one who had too much fun tonight. I only hope I do not pay for it in the morning._

“Daenerys then. Is there something wrong?”

At that she frowned and sat down by the main table that dominated his room. It was filled with reports regarding the status of not only his people, but now the entire realm. Daenerys had begun to fill him on and the goings-on of Westeros, and he was just now beginning to fully comprehend how dire their condition was. She patted the seat next to him and waited patiently.

He hesitated before he picked up the candle and moved to join her. He sat the candle down on the table and the dim light it gave off cast an illuminating glow that seemed to envelop them both within a bubble. The flickering of the candle caused their shadows to dance on the wall behind them as they had danced on the floor only a short time before. They sat in silence for a while, each waiting for the other to speak first.

She broke the silence.

“Tell me a story Jon Snow. Tell me about your family.”

_An odd request at this time of night. Yet who am I to deny my queen._

He struggled to put into words what he wanted to say.

“Ned Stark was a tough man, as any good man of the North should be. Yet he was fair. He was unwilling to order those beneath him to do anything that he would not do himself first.”

Daenerys nodded at that.

“As any good ruler should be.”

“Aye. And he was honorable. The most honorable man I knew. He did the honorable thing coming south to support his friend Robert, and he was killed for it. My family paid the price.”

They were quiet then again, until she broke the quiet with a small voice.

“Do you think he would make the same choice again? Chose duty over his family?”

Jon shook his head bitterly.

“I loved the man. More than you will ever know, but he was crippled at times by his sense of honor. Bound to it with unbreakable chains.”

She tilted her head slightly at his response.

“You speak as though you disagree with the man. Yet from what I hear of you, your sense of honor is no less than his. You refused to leave the Night's Watch to save your family. You refused the relative safety of the Wildlings and went back to the Night's Watch to face overwhelming odds. Only once they had betrayed you did you decide to leave.”

He looked away at that, emotions taking hold of him as memories of Ned rushed through him. He bowed his head.

“Every time I wavered, his voice echoed in my mind, as clear as the last time I spoke with him. You don't understand. You never could.”

Daenerys threw up her hands in slight defeat.

“Are all the men of the North as stubborn as you?”

Jon smiled slightly at that.

“Sansa has asked the same question many a time. What do you think my answer was?”

Now it was her turn to smile. It faded quickly though and she stood up and began to pace back and forth. He frowned at her change in demeanor and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in front of him.

“You said there was nothing wrong. But clearly there is something bothering you.”

She wrung her hands as she paced back and forth, attempting to wear a path in the hard cold stone beneath her.

“I was not entirely honest with you before Jon. When stating the terms of our alliance.”

Jon shot her a wary look but otherwise waited to hear more.

“Everything I said before is true. Yet there is one other thing I would ask of you. It is not something I would wish to force on anyone. Yet our situation here is...complicated to say the least.”

Jon was tired of her dancing around the subject.

“Whatever it is, just say it Daenerys. The suspense is killing me.”

She stopped pacing and looked squarely at him.

“Marriage Jon. Our alliance requires marriage.”

She continued on cutting him off before he could even object.

“My claim to the throne, while a rightful one, is precarious at best. The great houses are loath to acknowledge a woman on the throne, no matter her last name. You know this, and I know this. If we were to join houses, it would not only solidify my reign and show that I have the backing of one of the oldest and most respected houses of Westeros, but I would also have a man standing by my side. This could go a long way to allay the fears that most of the remaining undecided lords of the Seven Kingdoms have.”

Jon chose his words carefully. He honestly had been surprised that the topic was not broached sooner, but for whatever reason, she had chosen to wait till now.

“If those who are undecided, think that somehow me standing beside you as your husband strengthens your claim any, then they are foolish indeed. You are more than capable of ruling Westeros on your own. You have proven that thus far.”

A smirk slipped over her face.

“While I thank you for your kind words, that is not the reality of the situation and you know it. There are some who will never take me seriously based on the fact that I am a woman alone.”

He sighed, but had no response.

“And there is the fact,” she stopped and blushed. “The fact that I require an heir.”

He too blushed at that regarding the implications behind that statement.

“The offer is a great honor. One far greater than I deserve. I am not sure if I deserve it though. I am but a bastard. I am not worthy.”

He looked into her eyes and noticed a fire burning there at his response.

“I don't believe that for a second Jon Snow. And neither do you. You know better than to let others define you. If I had done so, I would still be a slave for the Dothraki, passed around like a common whore. And look at me know. Queen of all the horse lords.”

He had no response for that. He turned away from her fiery gaze and looked out through the window over the moon swept city. She returned to her seat and took his hand, her hand matching his for warmth.

“The truth is, I am tired. So tired of ruling alone. Tired of making decisions by myself that will impact the lives of so many. I do what I must, and I will continue to do so. But would that I could do it with someone by my side that understands the burden of power. You know what it is like to have that mantle of responsibility thrust upon you. To carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let them see you stumble.”

She looked then, very much like a girl, and he was keenly aware of her relative youth despite everything she had already accomplished. Even considering all this, she was still just one person, dealing with the insecurities that everyone was forced to do battle with. Only hers would impact the entire continent in the months to come.

He stood up and now it was his turn to pace.

“I don't know what you want me to say. I feel like my entire life has been decided for me by others. Now I would add marriage to the list?”

She cast him a demure look.

“Would it be so bad, being married to me? Do my looks offend you Snow?”

He stuttered, his face growing red.

“What? No...that's not it...its just-”

“Or is there another? Someone else you already call your own?”

His face grew even redder at that, and he was thankful for the dim lighting in the room.

“You could be with another. Our marriage need not be one of love, only obligation. I need only an heir, and your support.”

Now it was her turn for her face to grow flush as well as Jon turned on her out of shock. He struggled to clear his head, a task that was difficult due to the amount of wine he had imbibed that night.

“I would ask that you give me time to consider your proposal. What you are offering, while indeed a great honor and privilege, is no small matter.”

She rose from her seat nodding.

“Take your time Jon, just not too long. Know that I need an answer soon, and what you decide will most certainly impact the entire kingdom.”

He nodded at her as she passed and made her way for the door. She stopped and looked back as though debating something internally. She said nothing though and offered him another smirk before she left the room and pulled the door shut behind her. Jon slumped over then, his arm reaching out to the back of his chair in support.

_What do I do now?_

\---Sansa---

She had been sure he would pay her a visit after the feast was over, yet the night grew even longer, and still there was no sign of him. She was beginning to doubt that he would show up and her heart sank, even as the moon rose higher. Footfalls at her door drew her attention away from her moonlit windowsill and her heart soared with hope.

She rushed to open the door and she was not disappointed. Jon stood on the other side, looking every bit as stressed out as she felt. He gave her one of his rare smiles when he saw her and her world seemed to right itself. She leaned into him and kissed him deeply even as she ushered him through the doorway. He answered with a fervor that scared her a little, before she relaxed and sank deep into him.

He pulled away breathless and took both of her hands in his.

“There is something I have to tell you.”

He escorted her to the edge of her bed and the two sat down together slowly. She trembled with trepidation as she waited for him to speak.

“Daenerys came by to pay me a visit. That is what kept me from your side for so long.”

Sansa blinked.

“What did she want?”

Jon shifted uncomfortably before speaking.

“She has another condition for our fledgling alliance. She would join our houses in more ways then one.”

Sansa looked on in confusion, before realizing what he meant. Jon spelled it out for her as well.

“She seeks a marriage to further secure her position, a marriage to me.”

Sansa shrank back from him in fear.

“And what did you say?”

Jon exhaled deeply.

“What could I say. Every voice in my head shouted for me to do the honorable thing. The right thing for our people and accept. Yet how could I say yes, knowing what I would be turning my back on?”

He stood at that, clearly frustrated and confused and ran his hands through his hair. Sansa took a minute to compose herself and calm her swirling emotions. She smoothed her dress out in her lap with her hands gently.

“There is but one decision to be made Jon. You must say yes.”

He looked at her, disbelieving his own ears.

“But you know what this means. What this means for us.”

She nodded gravely.

“I do. But how selfish would I be to ask you to put so many lives at risk just for my sake? You would never be able to live with yourself Jon. I will not put you in that position.”

He peered at her with a strange look in his eyes.

“You are a remarkable woman Sansa Stark. There is no one who could ever deserve you.”

She stared down at her lap, palms upturned resting on her legs and whispered slowly.

“I can think of one.”

Jon's face flickered with emotion and his fiery Targaryen half seemed to burn through his Stark reticence. He rushed forward to kneel in front of her and suddenly they were kissing once again. The words they had just traded, the troubles they discussed fell away, and Sansa felt only bliss. Bliss that she didn't think was even possible.

Jon was adamant in his advances. He pushed into her threatening to knock her over with his intensity. She laughed in between covering his lips with hers and her hands went unbidden to the laces of his tunic. She had trouble undoing them and she pouted. She needed to feel his skin on hers, his lips were not enough. Jon reached down and ripped his shirt away, leaving him standing there in nothing but his breeches. He stood before her, his gaze hungrily drifting over her body.

She gulped at the sight of him standing before her. Countless scars covered his rippled abdomen but the large marks that traced the betrayal of his former brothers did nothing to negate his unrivaled appeal. Warmth spread throughout her body as she imagined kissing him, touching him all over and apparently the feeling was mutual.

He pounced on her again and she laughed as he ran kisses down her neck and then over her heart. He continued his way down the front of her dress and she ached to be free of the restrictive garment. She shoved him aside playfully and stood up. He rolled onto his back, arms propped up on the bed leaning back with a casual grace.

She stood before him and slowly moved to undo the intricate ribbons that held up her dress. Jon watched her mesmerized as her deft fingers made their way down the side of her dress, one by one undoing the knots. Finally, she was finished, and the only thing holding her dress up was her arm. She let her arm fall to her side and her dress fell with it, pooling around her feet and ankles. She stepped out of her dress, only her thin shift remained, and that offered little in the way of coverage.

Jon sat up and his gaze grew even more intense as he scrutinized her body. His gaze set alarm bells ringing in her head and she moved her arms to provide as much coverage as she could afford. Jon looked startled at her quick change of emotion, but then seemed to understand.

“I can't get him out of my head,” she squeaked. “The things he did to me. The things he made me do...”

Jon rose quickly to comfort her, his hand going comfortingly to hers.

“Would that he had a thousand lives to give, so that I could take them all from him for what he did to you.”

He looked at Sansa as if asking her permission before he gently placed a kiss on her lips.

_Silly girl. This is Jon, not that monster. He would never hurt you._

Her hesitation slowly drained away as she forced the horrid memories from mind. She reached out and ran her hands up and down the front of his body, needing as much of him as possible. His immense warmth flooded through into her as she pressed her body to his. The thin shift blocked direct contact to him and she had had enough of it. In one quick motion she reached down and removed the shift startling Jon with the suddenness of her motion.

Desire flooded through his eyes as he saw her fully for the first time. His eyes held something else though, something that put her at ease and she placed her trust in him completely. He picked her up and carried her back to her bed tumbling onto her when his legs hit the edge. The heavy pressure of his body on top of hers was not threatening like she had feared it would be. Rather, it made her feel safe. Safe, that in Jon's arms, nothing bad could ever happen.

He simply lay there for a second before he began a more thorough inspection of her now bare body. His hands moved over her flat stomach and danced patterns over her skin lightly. His mouth moved over the gently slope of her breasts, planting kisses as he went, as though laying claim to every inch of her body. He growled in anger and she worried for a second that something might be wrong.

She looked down at him and he stared back at her with anger reflected in his eyes. He was lightly tracing a thin scar that tracked alongside one of her ribs on her right side. He said nothing, but continued to trace the scar with his fingers. His mouth moved down to continued the job and Sansa sighed. His lips gently covered the area of the scar, and what had once brought her only pain, now brought her pleasure. He continued doing the same on the rest of the small scars that dotted her body. He met each one with a growl before continuing to give it the same treatment.

Ramsey had been careful, ensuring that his work would be covered up during the day. She had felt ruined, unworthy of anyone let alone a man such as Jon, but here he was. There was no doubt in his eyes and he did not shy away from her for a second.

He caressed her breasts firmly, and he moved to cover each with his mouth in turn. His beard, soft as it was, contrasted with his smooth lips and sent shivers of pleasure that wracked her body as he worked. She arched her back into him as his tongue worked in circular motions. His left hand took both of hers in his and he reached above her head, lightly pinning her arms in place. His right hand moved lower and she bucked underneath his weight as his hand moved between her legs.

Her body tingled now. Her cool skin reacted violently wherever they touched, seemingly sparking between them. She moaned, and he moved to capture her mouth with his once again. She broke away just long enough to put words to her bodies request.

“Jon,” she pleaded. “I need you.”

He understood her request and quickly relinquished his position atop her, much to her bodies chagrin. She was not disappointed for long. He undid the laces on the front of his breeches and removed them agonizingly slow. He stood there before her, baring himself as she had done for him and he smirked at her expression.

He closed again and although they had only been apart for a few seconds, touching him again was like finally quenching a great thirst that she thought would never end. They moved further up onto the bed and he lay atop her, arms propped up on the bed presenting her with an unspoken question. She nodded softly her consent and he moved forward. Their hips moved together, back and forth. Pressure slowly mounted where their bodies joined and then pleasure spread throughout her body.

Their bodies danced together in perfect rhythm, as if keeping time to a song. A song that Sansa never wanted to end.

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be careful everyone, for the internet is dark and full of spoilers. Seriously, there are some major leaks from the show floating around this weekend, be safe.
> 
> Let us see what ole Bran has been up to...

\---Bran---

Darkness pressed in all around him, threatening to smother him. He had grown used to it. He had wondered around aimlessly until he thought surely he would die, but finally he was rewarded for his patience. Deep beneath his home of Winterfell, the roots of the ancient weirwood tree stretched, as if searching for him. He had passed out next to several large and gnarly roots as large as his forearm and he had feared he would never wake up.

He lay with his back propped up against a crumbling dirt wall. A wall that was part of some ancient partition of the crypts beneath Winterfell. It was a place that had never seen sunlight and only few had dared venture. The roots were entwined around the milky white skin of his arms and legs, holding him close, more out of protection than out of captivity.

He existed in a catatonic state, drifting in and out of consciousness. Time held no meaning and he lost all track of it. He was all at once, part of the beginning of the world, yet also present as it was thrust back into the void dooming everyone to utter blackness. Time flowed before his unseeing eyes like a dream. His life played out forwards then backwards, in some twisted fashion that seemed to merge together until he couldn't tell where he began and where he ended.

The tree kept him alive, the roots had begun to grow into his skin, providing him with just enough energy to keep him from death. He was one with the tree, and with it, one with the rest of the world. He no longer harbored human desires. He longed only to grow higher towards the fire in the sky that provided life giving light. And to grow deeper towards the core, determined to plant himself deeper in the dirt to weather any storm that might come. He feared not death that marched endlessly on, trees cared little for the worries of man.

Every so often, the flashes of brilliance that surged all around him came into focus and he was able to pick out certain moments in time. It was difficult to tell if these moments existed in the past, present or the future.

_A knight sat atop his horse. He was short of stature. He sat with a strength and grace that belied his size. He wore armor that was little more than mismatched bits and pieces. It appeared ill fitting on him. His shield was blazoned with the image of a white weirwood with a laughing red face._

_The mystery knight challenged first another knight, large and pompous who laughed upon seeing his challenger. The small knight was far to quick however, and easily best his first foe. A second challenge was given and once again, the mystery knight was laughed at. The mirth did not last long though as the Knight of the Laughing Tree dispatched his foe without breaking a sweat in a courageous manner that drew cheers from the crowd._

_A third challenge was given, and this time it was met with only a solid grimace. The Knight of the Laughing Tree once again rode forth and with a willful thrust of his lance, leveled his opponent to the roars of approval from the crowd witnessing. The smallfolk were thrilled that this mystery knight was able to bring low his opponents who were loved little by the people._

_The mystery knight's victories brought with it something the little knight did not desire, attention. Several others declared their intentions to unmask this Knight of the Laughing Tree once and for all. The King himself in his paranoid state, declared the knight his enemy. The Knight of the Laughing Tree knew his time had passed, and the next day, was nowhere to be seen. The angry king sent his son in search of the knight but the mystery knight was never found. Only his shield could be found, abandoned in a tree._

The scene shifted and Bran cried out to no avail. He was certain that there was more to the story and he sifted through the stream of time, desperate to found anything that linked back to the vision that had just played out before him. He was ready to give up hope when out out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. He focused in and was once again rewarded.

_A man crept through the forest stealthily. He wore a red tunic and his long silver hair was worn long and ended in a loose braid. The man appeared to be paying attention to something off in the distance and Bran shifted focus to see what it was that held his attention so._

_In the distance next to a large sturdy tree, a man stood next to his horse. The horse was tied to the tree and the man leaned against it struggling to remove a piece of armor. Bran watched as piece by piece, the armor was removed, often accompanied by curses. Finally the man moved to remove his helmet and Bran gasped in shock as the figure turned and was in fact a woman. A very beautiful woman._

_Bran glanced sideways at the man watching her move about. The man with the silver hair squinted intently at her, as if entranced by her every move. The man made to move but his horse would not comply and the woman looked sharply in his direction when the horse made a sound. The man, who Bran now realized was the son of the king from his vision before, looked up startled at being caught spying._

_There was nothing to do now and the prince stepped out of the shadows to reveal himself. He walked over to the woman, his horse forgotten. The woman did not move a muscle, she stood still as a statue. The prince had eyes only for her. The pair met beneath the tree. Bran held his breath as the prince reached up his hand and gently touched the woman's face..._

His vision blurred once again and Bran howled in frustration but it was all for naught. As hard as he tried, he was not able to find that moment in time again. Whatever happened between the two after that would remain a mystery. He struggled to recall something important, some connection he knew he should make, yet his mind was scrambled so and cognizant thought was difficult to come by.

Time passed. There was something important he had to do. He knew it. Yet he was comfortable where he was. The tree held him in its warm embrace and begged him never to leave. The warm air, was no longer stuffy. The darkness was no longer oppressive, but friendly as if nothing could ever hurt him, because he could not be seen.

Just when he thought he was safe, a nightmare reared its ugly head to jar him out of his sense of security.

_A crowd was gathered below him. He wonderd what could possibly hold their attention so. He looked up to discover what they were witnessing and a wordless scream left his mouth. His father knelt on the steps of the Sept, armed men all around him. Screams came from the crowd and those close to his father but they did little to draw his attention. He had eyes only for his father._

_A giant sword was drawn, and Bran's gaze became instantly fixed upon it. He watched in horror as it moved and was raised high above his father's head._

_He cried out his fathers name, begging him to move, do something, anything. His fathers head lifted slightly, glancing around the crowd. The crowd was shouting now. Although for or against his father's impending execution, Bran could not tell. He screamed again at his father loudly and was rewarded. His father's eyes looked right at him. There was no glisten of recognition though, only the gaze of a man staring into the distance, resigned to his fate._

_His father spoke something under his breath, only for the sword to fall with utter finality. His father's head was parted from his body and Bran screamed._

His scream threatened to pierce his very own eardrums and reverberated throughout the cavern he was in. Ripples formed in the stream of consciousness he floated in. He jumped faster than he ever had through time, the image of his dead father tearing his mind apart. His anguish was unbearable.

_A mountain shattered. A giant wave threatened to engulf the world. A specter, with two figures in red in tow looked straight at him, pointing with a wordless command. An Arm was broken into pieces. A man rolled in anguish, his hands over his ears screaming in conjunction. A city burned. Fire rained from the sky. A faceless dark laughed above him. A woman screamed._

_His agony was great, yet something was familiar about the woman and his anguished abated, replaced by curiosity. A man approached the woman, and placed a great sword at the foot of her bed adorned with a rising sun. The man went to the woman with a cry. Smoke from a small fire nearby with a pot of boiling water over it hung in the room. Tears streamed down the woman's face as she pleaded with the man. She bleed profusely, the bed was soaked._

Something stirred in the back of his mind. This woman brought forth a memory in him. Something he had forgotten long ago, something from another life. He struggled to recall what it was, and a burst of remembrance flooded through him, purging his indifference. He had a cousin, he had a family that needed him. He tried to move his weak limbs, but was unable to do so. He grunted in effort and gasped as the roots pulled free of his flesh, small beads of blood trailing down his skin, felt but unseen.

He tried to balance himself and stand up, unsure if his legs would even work. He was finally able to stand upright, and he took one wobbly step, then another. His confidence grew with each step. He stopped to gather his bearings.

_Where do I even go? There is no way out._

A whisper, or was it a breeze?

_There should be no air down here._

His skin glistened from the exertion and he wiped the sweat from his brow to stop it from dripping into his eyes and burning them. Some instinct told him that up held no escape for him. He set his feet in motion, searching for a way out. He slowly made his way deeper into the crypt, going the only way left for him, down.

 _-_ \--Jon---

Jon leaned back in his chair and sighed. Daenerys sat to his left on the Iron Throne, her chair dwarfed his in comparison. He didn't mind. It looked dreadfully uncomfortable. Still, she showed no sign of discomfort. He struggled to mirror her royal appearance. He straightened his back and ignored the cries of protest from his body.

They had been at it for what felt like days. In reality they had only been going since sunup. There were hundreds of supplicants begging the dragon queen for this or for that. Most of them had legitimate cases or grievances. The people of King's Landing had seen much suffering. For not the first time since Jon had met her, he marveled at Daenerys' stamina and fortitude. Her kind manner never wavered, and her judgment was never faulty.

_She makes it seem so easy. Truly she was born for this._

He knew he would have taken a far different approach had he been in her position. He would have spent a few hours doing his best to pretend like he knew what he was doing before retiring for the day. It wasn't that he didn't care, far from it. Sitting in one place for so long caused him to become restless. His time spent in the Night's Watch had honed his senses, to the detriment of his attention span. In battle being in one place for too long usually got you killed. It was something that was part of him now.

He would have turned to practicing his sword play in the yard, or spent time exploring the Red Keep with Sansa. His thoughts turned to her and he grinned widely before struggling to regain his composure in front of the crowd of people gathered before them. While he was only dimly aware of the discussion taking place with the woman kneeling before the Iron Throne and Daenerys, he was fairly certain that this was not the time to appear jovial.

He had given Sansa the day off. In reality he had pleaded and cajoled with her to take some time for herself. She worked far too hard and she deserved a break. He had promised to behave himself and he was determined not to break that promise. From what he gathered, Sansa had planned to go riding outside King's Landing today, with a heavy guard of course.

She had quickly become friends with Missandei, and Daenerys had given her leave for the day to escort Sansa around the city. Jon had no doubt that Sansa would somehow turn her day off into a day of visiting those in need around the city, and doing what she could to help. That was just one of the many things he loved about her.

Jon forced his mind back to the task at hand. While Daenerys was busying ruling from the throne. Jon was busy playing catch up. He had a stack of missives, status reports, and requests for orders that came up to his knee, sitting by the side of his chair. Slowly but surely, he had been working his way through them during the day. He picked one up from the top of the stack and sighed.

_I have not done this much reading since...well never. Where is Sam when you need him?_

He glanced over the page in his hand briefly before beginning from the top.

_Fleet Status Report_

_Blackwater Bay is filled with the ruined wreckage from the Siege of King's Landing. Of our original combined fleet, less than a quarter remain operational. Of those ships, the majority require repairs with varying degrees of magnitude._

_We were able to salvage some of the enemy fleet and these ships we are outfitting as well. I have taken the liberty to order the dock workers to help with repairs every hour of the week that we have light. The Bay is being cleared, although the going is slow._

_I do not want to be caught unawares in the Bay. To that end, I have established scouts from the ships in our fleet that remain whole to navigate the cost to the south and the north. If anyone is still out there who means us harm, we will know about it._

_If you have any direct orders, let me know of your desire. Until then, I will continue to operate as I see fit._

Yara's sigil was stamped in wax at the end of the note. For all of his dislike of the Greyjoys, Jon had to admit the woman knew what she was doing when it came time to leading men on the sea. Although he had seen her in action only a little, he came away impressed by the woman.

He flipped the note over on the pile of letters he had already read, and made a mental note to update Daenerys latter. He picked another note up and continued to read it from the Bakers Guild. It was mostly gibberish to Jon but part of the note caught his eye.

_...and in regards to the city rations, we are surprisingly well stocked despite the siege that just took place. The summer has been long and the bounty plentiful. The harvests in the south have proved fruitful and the Tyrells have kept their word. Supplies continue to flow into the city._

_It would appear that there is an excess amount of food everywhere in the south. The constant warfare has not affected the great fields of the far south and the unfortunate loss of life in several major population centers throughout the kingdom, has left an abundance of food to be had. Verily, I believe we are well suited to ride out whatever this winter might throw at us._

Jon huffed at that throwing the letter to the side.

_Maybe we can just feed the dead at our throats with bread. Maybe that will sate them._

He reached for another, but a question from Daenerys came his way unabated. He scrambled to recall what she had been talking about and finally put together a semi-coherent response. She had a wry smile on her face as she went back to addressing the man at her feet. He vaguely wondered what he had even responded to before shrugged the thought away. The contents of this letter were interesting indeed and made him sit up a little straighter.

_Lannisport is ours. After hearing of your victory at King's Landing, the defenders of the city threw down their arms and opened their gates. The smallfolk were surprisingly welcoming. No doubt the Lannisters have been treating them badly for years. What Lannisters remain, we have them under watch. We can send them to you in chains to do with as you wish should you so desire._

The note continued on describing logistics and further planning that Jon had little care to read. He scanned the rest of the page to the bottom to see who the author was. _Lady Olenna Tyrell,_ was scribbled in handwriting at he bottom of the page in barely legible ink.

_This news is most welcome. The South is almost united once again under the Targaryen name. Perhaps we yet have a chance..._

A voice in his ear brought him back. He looked blankly at Daenerys who repeated the question she had just asked.

“I believe that is enough for one day. Unless you have anything else you would like to add to the matter at hand?”

Jon shook his head vehemently, more than ready to be done.

Daenerys turned back to the crowd gathered.

“We are done here for the day. I thank you all for being patient with us. For those I was unable to get to today. Pray, come back on the next day, and we will discuss further how the crown can help.”

That was all the dismissal her Unsullied bodyguards needed. They escorted everyone from the Great Hall.

Jon spoke up now.

“I have one more item I would handle before we are done here.”

Daenerys looked at him and nodded before leaning back in her chair carefully, waiting for him to continue.

Several new people were escorted into the Hall. The Lady Brienne and her squire Pod walked down the center of the Hall, followed closely by his squire Elias and another boy, younger looking still. They came to halt before the Iron Throne and stood in silence until he began.

“I have discussed the following matter with Lady Brienne and she agrees.”

He turned his face to Pod.

“Podrick Payne has served his lady well. He has been a valuable ally to not only me and my family, but to the Hand of the Queen himself.”

He looked to Tyrion then and the diminutive man nodded back his agreement.

“He has served as a squire for long enough. Lady Brienne, if you would.”

She turned to face Pod who looked between the two of them unbelieving now.

“Pod. You have been a loyal squire and a great friend during your time in my service. Yet there is another here who should be the one to grant you this.”

She looked at Tyrion who looked back at her with a grateful look in his eye.

The Hand of the Queen rose and moved to stand before Pod.

“Kneel, Pod”

Pod knelt before Tyrion, trembling on one knee.

“In reward for your great service to the realm, I knight you, Ser Podrick Payne. May you defend the Seven Kingdoms from this, to your dying day. Arise Ser!”

At that, those in attendance burst out in applause and Pod turned red at the praise lavished upon him. He went around shaking hands before Jon urged the crowd to quiet down.

“There is one other matter to discuss. Since I have robbed the Lady Brienne of a squire. It seems only fitting, that I am the one to fill that void.”

He beckoned to the young boy standing apart from the others to step forward and he did so bashfully.

“Lady Brienne, I present to you, Joshua. He has long served my family and deserves to learn from a knight as great as yourself. If you would have him, I promise you, you will not regret it.”

Brienne faced her new squire.

“You have some big shoes to fill lad. Come, let us see what you are made of.”

With that, the two turned to leave and Tyrion and Varys followed suit, discussing something in a tone far to low for Jon to make out as they left. Daenerys rose from her seat, and Jon moved to follow her. His legs were stiff from sitting, but it felt good to be on his feet once again.

“Walk with me,” she bade him. “And tell me what you have learned today.”

Together the pair made their way out of the Hall and finally back out under the open sky. Jon filled her in on what he had learned throughout the morning. She listened attentively, stopping him only to interject a question or comment at certain intervals of his reporting. For the most part they were in agreement on how to handle most of the items he brought up. There were several however that they disagreed upon. They decided to leave these for later and let Tyrion bring them up during his Hand of the Queen meeting.

Daenerys stopped him in front of the stables a twinkle in her eye as he looked at her questioningly.

“I know you find sitting in the Great Hall all day boring, but you handle yourself better than you think. I would show you that ruling has some perks as well. Would you ride with me?”

“A chance to be outside with the wind in my face? You know I would not turn that down. Where are we going?”

She smiled mischievously at him but otherwise gave nothing away.

“It is a surprise, one that I think you will enjoy.”

It was clear he was not going to get any answers out of her, and so he kept his curiosity to himself. They mounted their horses that were brought to them from the stables, and made their way out of the Red Keep and down into the city. A healthy amount of Dothraki followed them in a loose net, scanning their surroundings vigilantly looking for any signs of danger as they made their way down into the heart of the city.

People gathered around to watch them as they went by. Many cheered as they passed, mostly for their queen, but Jon heard his name on the peoples lips as well, a surprising amount. He followed Daenerys' lead as they rode, waving in acknowledgment as the went. Finally it became clear where they were going and Jon's heart rate sped up.

The Dragonpit rose up in front of them, dominating the city's skyline. The decrepit building managed to look eerie and awe inspiring all at the same time. As they drew closer, Jon's anticipation grew. Here was another tangible link from his families past. They dismounted in front of a large vacant door frame. At one point it had most likely held a formidable door, but it had since been removed. The dark opening stretched on into the building like a cavern into the side of a mountain.

A nudge in his ribs stopped him from staring and he glanced over at Daenerys. She had a knowing look on her face.

_She must have felt the same way when first she came here._

She was waiting for him to offer his arm to escort her inside, and he quickly moved to do so. Several large torches were lit and servants carrying them proceeded them as they moved inside the darkness. Soon, they were far enough inside the building that the only light present emanated from the fire burning on the torches. They appeared as but tiny pinpoints of light, attempting to hold the darkness at bay.

The servants grew more cautious now, and Jon could tell that they were nervous, frightened even. Daenerys though was as calm and collective as she always was. She held no fear for what resided within. Light glistened off something in the distance and Jon thought for a second that water was pooled on the ground. There was no water.

The torches danced off the scales of a great beast, something from the songs sang through every inn around the world. The creature that adorned his family sigil lay before him not moving. Daenerys hissed beside him and he realized that he had tightened his grip on her arm to an alarming degree. He muttered an apology and loosened his grip. He let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding.

He let go of Daenerys arm, and despite his trepidation, found himself moving towards the dragon.

“His name is Rhaegal. One of the three of my children.”

Daenerys voice echoed behind him as he continued to move forward.

“He is named for my brother.”

Her voice behind him was barely a whisper, yet in the silent cavern it was amplified.

_And my father._

He was close now, close enough to touch it. Daenerys came up and stood by his side.

“Does he sleep? Does he not care that we are here?”

Daenerys looked at Rhaegal sadly.

“He was injured during the siege of the city. He fell from the sky, and if it was not for his siblings, he would have been slain. I did everything I could, consulted everyone possible. The truth is, there are none left who know anything about dragon anatomy. He appears to be in a deep sleep. When he will wake, I do not know.”

Jon reached out his hand instinctively, moving to touch it but something kept him from doing so. He looked to Daenerys, asking for her approval. In response, she placed her hand on his, and guided his hand to the side of Rhaegal. The scale was smooth to the touch, and warm. Jon gasped upon contact. The concept of a living breathing dragon among the world was a concept so alien to him.

_Then why does it feel so natural?_

He ran his hand down the flank of the dragon, marveling at the indentions that marked the beginning and ending of each scale. The scales were like armor, knitted together over tissue and bone. They appeared indestructible. He detected a slight shift in weight as the dragon moved. An incredulous look crossed Daenerys face and Jon turned to look at what she was watching.

He found himself staring back into two deep pools, no, two large eyes watching him curiously. One of the servants dropped his torch and fled. Jon gazed back, still as a statue. The smaller scales on Rhaegal's face were green. As the light reflected off of them, Jon was reminded of moss, the deep dark green of moss in the woods at dusk, just before the light would fade. They gleamed as though jade.

Jon became keenly aware of the many, razor sharp teeth that Rhaegal possessed. They were black, black as night and they matched his claws which clacked on the ground as Rhaegal moved his limbs about. The dragon appeared to be stretching. His eyes were bronze, brighter than polished shields, and they seemed to glow with their own heat. Rhaegal opened his mouth wide and Jon froze.

Daenerys stepped in front of him alarmed but it appeared that Rhaegal meant him no harm. Rhaegal closed his mouth after what looked like a yawn, and grounded his jaws together. He cocked his head sideways at her intrusion but the tension went out of her as she realized that Rhaegal meant Jon no harm. She rubbed Rhaegal's nose then backed out of the way once again. Jon moved to mimic her slowly, reaching out his hand to place it gently on the dragon's nose.

Rhaegal was still as Jon did so. Daenerys cast him a sideways look, as if once again sizing him up since the first time they had met. The sheer majesty of the moment threatened to overwhelm Jon. Rhaegal snorted bucking his head not unlike a horse and Daenerys laughed.

“I can't believe this! I have tried everything! They have never taken to anyone but me like so. They are more prone to rip your head off than let you touch them even for a second.”

She grabbed his arm like an excited child who had just gotten her way. A flurry of motion caught his attention as Rhaegal moved quickly, heading away from them. They took off after him, as fast as they could manage, careful not to trip over the dark uneven ground. The light from outside assailed them as they ran out of the doorway of the Dragonpit.

Jon squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand as he searched the sky for a sign of Rhaegal. A wave of air hit him with a concussive force and he struggled to maintain his footing, as did Daenerys beside him. Rhaegal soared higher and higher into the air. Daenerys smiled widely as she watched him climb and Jon felt his spirits lift alongside the fantastic spectacle he was witnessing.

A roar from the west arrived and Jon watched as two more dragons filled the sky, rushing to meet their sibling once again. The three playfully flitted about, nipping at one another.

“It does them good, being together again.”

Jon looked sideways at Daenerys who looked back at him.

“They were not meant to be apart from each other.”

Jon thought of his family.

_We are so close to being whole again. Well, as whole as we will ever be. If only Bran were here..._

“It seems to me, that there is more to you than meets the eye Jon Snow.”

He looked at her questioningly.

“My dragons do not take to just anyone,” she said, echoing her sentiments from before. “It appears I have made the right choice.”

Jon stood in silence, his mood shifting, unwilling to bring the subject up himself.

Daenerys had no such hesitation.

“So have you given my offer any further thought? My marriage proposal?”

Jon exhaled softly and turned to face her.

“I have your Grace,” he spoke formally now, as one would address their queen.

“I have conferred with my advisers, and they all tell me the same thing. That this union must be made, to solidify our houses, and for the good of the realm.”

She turned away from him focusing on her dragons once more.

“Yes, for the good of the realm,” she murmured softly. She continued on.

“I know what I am asking you to give up Jon. It is something I wrestled with as well.”

Jon looked at her interested at that.

_Is there someone that she gave up as well? Someone she left behind to make this journey?_

“Nothing worth having is ever easy Jon. I don't need to lecture you on that. Sacrifices must be made in the end, to get what we want.”

Her eyes found his, matching those of her children.

“I know what I want Jon Snow. Do you?”

Jon gulped at that, but had no response. She crossed her arms and waited for a response before continuing lightly.

“And who knows, maybe even one day you can ride a dragon.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

\---Sansa---

It had been one of those perfect days so common in the stories and so rare in the real world. The weather was relatively warm and dry, giving off little impression of the winter weather that was soon to follow. The leaves on the trees were now mostly a buttery yellow, with violent red interspersed among them here and there.

Her time spent riding around the city had been most enjoyable, Mya and Missandei proving lovely riding companions. Still, there was something missing, someone she was eager to see again after a day spent apart. They picked their way back through the winding streets of the city. She had learned much of the city and its people. Much more than in her previous experience in King's Landing, where she had been mostly sequestered in the Red Keep her entire stay.

Their horses walked gently through the mud packed streets. The buildings stood around them, many in varying states of disarray. Children ran in front of them back and forth as they went, covered in filth. Beggars dotted the sides of the road here and there, palms reached towards the sky. The city, while making great strides toward recovery, still had a long way to go.

They approached the Red Keep as the sun began to set. The sky changed to a deep red as if trying to imitate the Keep that Sansa was now entering. Several others were arriving as they pulled up short on their horses and came to a stop. Sansa smiled as a pair, looking every bit like a king and queen, dismounted from their horses. The man moved to help the woman down from her horse after he had gracefully swung down from atop his.

She moved to greet them, giving her wordless thanks to the stable boy who moved to prepare her horse for the night. Jon saw her coming and broke off from conversing with Daenerys to greet her. She bowed as she stopped before them.

“Sansa,” Daenerys moved to embrace her in a hug, her voice cheery. “I trust you had a pleasant day?”

“I did your Grace. I hope yours was good as well.”

Her tone subtly accommodated a question and a statement. Daenerys eyes flashed in response.

“Indeed it was. Much was accomplished yet there is still much more to do before the day takes its leave. I will leave Jon to fill you in on the details. I must beg your leave for the time being.”

“Of course your Grace.”

Daenerys shot Jon a quick look before marching off, servants flocking around her and Missandei marching steadily by her side.

Jon made his way before her. She was full of mischief as she greeted him.

“Your Grace. It is good to see you again. Your presence was sorely missed this day.”

“My Lady,” he responded formally but with a slight upward tug at the corners of this mouth. “There is much I would tell you.”

Arm in arm, they made their way inside.

\------

“It was breathtaking Sansa,” he gushed. “I wish you could have been there.”

They sat in his room, a large chair for entertaining guests dominated the middle. She was curled up in his lap, one arm curled around his neck tugging gently on his long curls, the other tracing circles on his chest. His arms embraced her tightly and he was practically giddy as he described his meeting with one of the dragons for the first time. It appeared she was not the only one whose day had been well spent.

“It was so regal, so majestic. And when I looked into its eyes, it was as if their was some higher intelligence there. Some part of it that knew who I was and accepted me for it.”

“Careful Jon,” she admonished him playfully. “Ghost is going to get jealous if you keep lavishing praise on another animal.”

Jon appeared lost in thought before speaking again.

“Rhaegal. The dragon's name is Rhaegal.”

There was nothing but silence then as the significance of the name soaked into the room, permeating everything.

Jon seemed to shake the cloudy atmosphere that had settled over him from his mind.

“And when he took off? Gods Sansa, what I would have given just to fly with him. It was incredible.”

Sansa laughed, glad his good mood had returned.

“I know. We watched from outside the city as the three played overhead. Missandei assured us there was no great danger. She said they mostly keep to themselves, short of time spent with Daenerys and now apparently you as well.”

Jon changed subjects.

“And how did your day go? I hope you didn't work to hard. You were supposed to be taking it easy you know.”

She smiled as a pout crossed over his face as he spoke.

_He worries to much. Although he does look sweet when he does._

“You know what my mother always said about idle hands. And besides, I enjoyed my time exploring the city, even if it meant going places that were less than savory. The people that live in this city Jon...”

His hand rubbed her thigh absentmindedly as she spoke, nodding in agreement as she regaled him with the events of her day. He laughed as her long hair tickled his face when she became particularly animated telling him a story regarding a horse race she had participated in with Missandei and Mya.

“And what of Arya,” she inquired. “Were you successful in placing her under the care of Brienne?”

“I was,” Jon nodded. “The lady took her under her protection with nary a question. That is a paring that I most approve of.”

Sansa nodded solemnly.

“And what of the other paring we discussed. Did Daenerys press the matter at all? Was it discussed?”

Jon's hesitation in responded answered her question for her but she waited in silence anyways for him to respond. She rested her head upon his shoulder as he spoke.

“She did,” he paused before continuing. “'And as we discussed, I said yes.”

She knew that it was coming, yet still it hurt to hear him say it out loud.

“And when will the union take place? How long do we have?”

“As soon as she can manage. There are some affairs that have to be set in order, matters of state that must be attended to first. But she seemed most eager to make what he have discussed, part of reality.”

“And after the two of you are married? What then?”

He lifted her head from his shoulder, his hand on her chin gently.

“Let us not think of that now. I would spend my time here, in the present with you.”

She smiled, yet weakly and unconvincingly at him but that did not deter him. He moved forward and as he kissed her, she could feel his need. It was the same need that roiled inside her like a volcano, threatening to erupt. Her hands went to his face and their breathing quickened. In response, he placed his hands on her hips and lifted her as though she weighed nothing until she was straddling his legs with hers.

Her dress threatened to become entangled then, and she laughed as he cursed while trying to straighten it out. His mouth quickly captured hers again and the world slipped away, all thoughts of the future lost. His hands moved over her with an experienced fervor and she shivered as the thought of him atop her naked came over her. She was about to suggest moving this the short distance to the bed when a noise at the door caught both of their attentions.

Jon cursed as they scrambled to separate themselves quickly, only succeeding to become further entangled. Sansa stifled a silent laugh with her hands as they fell out of the chair together. She landed on his chest after the short fall and looked apologetic at him checking to make sure he had not been injured. His only response was to grin back at her and cover her face in kisses before sitting upright. He stood up quickly and gracefully pulled her up from her sitting position on the floor.

She brushed the front of her dress down in an effort to regain some modicum of decency before they entertained their guest. Jon gave her a once over before brushing back a strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of place.

Once it became apparent that they were both ready, Jon moved for the door while Sansa sat back down in the chair to give a casual appearance. Jon unlatched the door and pulled it upon. In walked a young boy rapidly who quickly shed his visage becoming her sister Arya once again.

“I see you have been busy today,” she declared looking at Jon.

He shot her an innocent look as if to say 'Who me?'

Arya continued breathlessly.

“The whole city is abuzz. I swear gossip travels faster than the wind. Nothing has been officially announced but all anyone can talk about is your betrothal to their queen. It is as if everyone forgot their troubles and can talk of nothing but the two of you.”

_No doubt another benefit for Daenerys. A royal wedding is always good for public morale. She is as crafty as she kind._

“I guess congratulations are in order then Jon. Who ever would have thought.”

She teased him further.

“I didn't think anyone would ever be silly enough to marry your ugly mug.”

“Ha ha,” Jon shot back dryly. “Since when did you become so witty Arya.”

She bowed before them mockingly, as though an actor after giving a masterful performance.

“It has always come naturally to me. It is part of my charm.”

“Truly though Jon,” she said sobering up. “This is an honor. I could think of no one worthier than you.”

“I suppose...”

Arya looked questioningly between the two.

“Is there something I am missing here? Daenerys is gorgeous and the most powerful person in Westeros. Shouldn't we be celebrating?”

Sansa cast a look at Jon then at that, and he motioned for Arya to take a seat.

“I feel like there has been a lot of this going around lately,” he began. “But there is something that I have yet to tell you, something about me...”

\------

“So why not just tell her,” Arya questioned vigorously.

Sansa sighed. Since revealing the truth about Jon's parentage, Arya had asked a millions questions, true to her form.

“This is...a delicate situation to say the least. Jon and I have long discussed the merits of revealing the truth about his parents to the world for some time now. There are just too many unknowns, things we have no control over.”

“Like what,” Arya retorted.

“For starters,” Jon began. “We have no proof. Everything we say is just our word against the worlds. Why would anyone believe that a bastard son of some northerner, who most in the south view as a traitor, is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen? We would be treated with contempt at best, hostility at worst.”

“And if they did believe us,” Sansa continued. “Would we lose the support of the northern houses? Would they still want Jon as king knowing he is a Targaryen? We could lose the unity we have worked so hard to accomplish.”

Jon picked up where she left off.

“Say Daenerys did believe me, would she welcome me as family, or treat me as a threat, an enemy? Would my claim to the throne be greater than her own? Would she feel threatened by the last son of Rhaegar Targaryen, no matter his legitimacy?”

Arya cut in then, holding up her hands to waylay the assault they were bringing to her ears.

“But what if you are wrong? What if Daenerys welcomes you with open arms? What if the people are thrilled to have Rhaegar's last son returned to them? The people of the north have already proved once that they care little for your last name. The blood of the Starks, my blood, still flows in your veins. What if that is still good enough for them?”

Jon looked at Sansa, he rubbed his eyes in frustration. Her brow knitted in thought as she spoke.

“This is the exact debate we have been having for weeks now Arya. Outside of Daenerys finding out she still has kin, nothing is certain. Everything is going so smoothly. Why risk it now with winter fast approaching?”

Arya shook her head and her hand twitched instinctively.

“These things have a way of going sideways. Would Daenerys even want to marry Jon if she knew they were related?”

“You know as well as I, that the Targaryens have had no qualms about marrying their kin in the past. Once I get to know her, once I have gained her trust, then I will consider broaching the subject.”

Arya held her hands up in mock surrender.

“Very well. I am not saying this is the greatest idea, but your secret is safe with me. Besides we have more important matters to discuss. Weddings are a special occasion, and royal ones even more so. I can't wait to see what Daenerys comes up with for you to wear.”

She smirked at him.

“I hope it is something colorful with extra frills and lace.”

Jon groaned.

\---Daenerys---

The day of her wedding quickly approached. There were constant matters that required her attention. She found herself burning the candle on both ends and had little time for reflection. The few quiet moments she had to herself, she found her thoughts drifting back to Jon. Her heart rate quickened and her stomach flip flopped every time they interacted, which was growing increasingly more often.

Ever since the day with the dragons, and his agreement to marry her, he had grown more attentive, put forth more effort into understanding what it took for her to properly rule the Seven Kingdoms. His close proximity to her on a daily basis was having an effect she had not counted on.

_What is it about him? I can't seem to shake this growing feeling. Do I even want to?_

She found herself soaking in the tub, the water scalding hot, after a day filled meeting with various emissaries and messengers. It seemed everyone in Westeros wanted to congratulate her on her upcoming nuptials. Her shoulders ached from sitting in place all day, but the hot water was doing wonders for the knots that had formed.

A gentle rap on the door caused her to open one eye to see who dared interrupt her bath. It was Missandei though, and she could not bring herself to turn her away no matter how much she wanted to. Missandei had been her rock for far to long for her to brush her aside now.

“Apologies your Grace. But there are a few questions I would ask you, a few matters we need to attend to regarding your upcoming wedding.”

“Missandei you know you have my full authority for any matters related to the wedding. I trust everything you would do.”

Still, Missandei shuffled through a pile of papers with her fingers deftly and proceeded to bring up several topics for Daenerys' review. Eventually, Missandei put aside the papers, apparently done for the night.

“So how are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“I meant about your wedding, about Jon.”

Daenerys shot her a sideways glance from the tub.

“I will do as I must Missandei. You know that.”

“Is that all it is? Duty? He is quite handsome after all...”

Daenerys flushed at that, and sank lower into the tub until the water covered her chin.

“...and kind, a great fighter. His men love him and I have heard many a woman tell me they want to-”

“Missandei!” Daenerys gasped splashing the water with her palms sending droplets everywhere.

Missandei shrugged, a smug smile crossing her face.

“I am just saying. You could have done far worse.”

“You don't have to sell me! We are already getting married.”

Missandei moved to position herself behind the tub. She dabbed several oils into the palms of her hands and proceeded to massage Daenerys' shoulders. She sighed with pleasure as her shoulders slowly loosened under the constant attention. Her mind floated along, even as her hands did in the water.

“He is rather cute,” she giggled. “Although he is so serious all of the time. Recently, he has even been more attentive, more determined to anticipate my demands before I even ask them of him.”

“I have seen the way he looks at you. I have even caught him staring from time to time.”

She turned at that, to look Missandei in the face. Her chin rested on the side of the tub, her arms hung loosely over the side.

“He has not!?”

Missandei bobbed her head solemnly.

“He has your Grace. I would not lie.”

She focused past her handmaiden, thinking of some past memory.

“There is something about him,” she began. “As though I have known him for my entire life, yet am just meeting him for the first time. I know that makes no sense, it is hard to explain.”

“This feeling you describe, it is not unknown. I have felt the same thing...”

“...as if you were only half of a whole, searching for your missing piece.”

Missandei smiled and nodded in affirmation. Daenerys huffed, and turned around to immerse herself in the water once again.

“Once I thought Drogo was that missing piece, and then he was taken from me. My children were born though, and I was content with them. What I needed became secondary, tertiary even, behind ruling a people, and protecting my dragons. How will I know if this is it, what I have been searching for without even knowing it?”

“There is no way to know for sure, your Grace. Such is life.”

Daenerys stood up abruptly, her naked body meeting the cool air, steam rolling off her. Missandei moved to give her a robe to keep the chill from her body. Daenerys thanked her and held out her arms as she worked the robe onto her body. She tightened the robe around herself before turning on Missandei. Her voice was low, almost guttural.

“There is one thing I know for sure. If someone tries to take from me again, they will regret the day they heard the name Daenerys Targaryen!”

\---Jon---

His wedding day found him and caught him unawares, like most things do when you least expect them.

_Strange to think of. I never imagined this day would ever come. And now that it has..._

His time spent in King's Landing had resembled a dream, albeit a dream with a nightmare waiting just around the corner. He was happier than he had ever been spending time with Sansa. Finding out that Arya was still alive was almost too much good news to bear. However, the threat of the white walkers was still out there, and the loss of his cousin Bran hung over him like a cloud bursting at the seams, ready to dampen his good mood at a moments notice.

He fiddled with the cuff of one of his sleeves, trying to straighten it out appropriately, but it ignored him. He stopped and sighed, defeated. For not the first time in his life, he cursed the uselessness of fine clothing. He felt a presence behind him and turned to face whoever had been intruding on his defeat at the hands of the lace.

Sansa stood in the doorway, leaning up against the door frame, arms crossed across her chest.

_Gods has she ever looked more beautiful._

He held up his wrists in mock defeat and she gave a little laugh. She moved towards him, no glided towards him gracefully and began to deftly fix his cuff with the practiced hands of someone who knew what they were doing.

_She makes everything she does look easy. How does she do it?_

He thanked her when she was finished and she smoothed the fabric on his chest out in return, patting him once before moving away. He frowned as the space between them increased. He disliked the lack of her touch. She appeared nervous, her brow was furrowed in thought and she rang her hands as if there was dirt on them she was trying to clean off.

“I know this-”

“There is something-”

They both began speaking at once then stopped. Jon finally continued.

“Go ahead Sansa, what were you saying?”

She hesitated before steeling herself for whatever it was she was going to say.

“I need to tell you something Jon. Something I should have told you long ago.”

Jon froze at that, although his heart began to race, the juxtaposition not lost upon him.

She was hesitant to continue, yet he did not interrupt. Clearly, whatever she was trying to say, it was hard for her.

“What happened at the Twins. It did not take place exactly as a told you before.”

Now Jon was thoroughly confused.

_What could she possibly mean?_

“There was a battle yes, and many Freys were killed. Yet they were not the ones to initiate the attack. I was.”

She paused and waited to gauge his reaction. He went from confused to worried where she was going with this line of thought.

“We waited until the feast was fully under way and the night was long. Then we struck.”

Jon's worry turned back to confusion once again before morphing into anger. She could tell his anger had arisen, like a dragon from some great slumber, and she was silent. Jon waged a private battle in his head struggling to fully take in and comprehend what she had just revealed to him.

“Why are you just now telling me this,” he finally was able to get out through gritted teeth. “We had so much time before.”

“Because I was worried what you would think of me. It was not the honorable way, the way you would have chosen.”

Jon ran his finger through his hair.

“Maybe not, but still-”

“I have done things Jon. Bad things. Things you would never do. Maybe this was just my way of trying to shield you from the evil in this world. This was not your burden to bear.”

“Not my burden to bear? Gods Sansa!” he exploded. “I thought we were past all of this, the lying and the keeping secrets from one another.”

She looked on the verge of tears but he continued.

“We were supposed to be in this together. Your past, you are not meant to live with that alone. I am here to help.”

She looked to the floor then and his heart went out to her, yet still he kept his distance. After a few seconds, she seemed to have gathered her thoughts and she looked up at him again, eyes unwavering.

“It would seem my past is no longer just that.”

She walked towards him and handed him a note before retreating a few steps away to keep a respectful distance from him as he read.

_Sansa,_

_News has reached me of your brother's impending marriage to Daenerys. Is this what you wanted? To lose him to some outsider? To another woman? The Targaryens have always been mad. This time it will end no differently. If you cannot see that now, then you have forgotten everything I taught you._

_Jon has set you aside, like I warned you he would. How long before he sees you as a threat to the North? You know as well as I he has no true claim. Yours is far stronger. Join me at the Eyrie. We still have many allies who are less than thrilled by the dragon queen's reappearance._

_Know this, I will do what I must. I want you by my side for what is to come. Daenerys, and those she surrounds herself with must be stopped, by any means necessary. I look forward to seeing you again._

A small mockingbird adorned the letter, pressed deeply into wax on the page.

Jon looked up at her and crumpled the note in his fist holding it up in a question.

“You know everything he says here is false right? You know what you mean to me.”

She nodded steadily, gaze never leaving his. Recognition dawned in his eyes. The stubborn look she gave him was a familiar one.

“Yet you are still thinking of going anyways.”

“Yes,” she began slowly. “But not for the reasons he listed. He threatened you Jon, maybe not in so many words, but Littlefinger is anything but direct. Your life is clearly in danger.”

He raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

“So what? When was the last time my life was not in danger? Stay here where I can protect you. We can fight this together. I need you Sansa. I can't do this alone.”

She turned away from his again.

“There is too great a risk. There are too many ways to get to you. What if he finds out your secret? And turns everyone against you? Or sends an assassin in the night? At least if I am there I can pro-”

“Sansa I love you.”

That stopped her dead in her tracks. She froze in place, back turned to him. She answered with a small voice that cut him deeply with its sincerity.

“I am not worthy.”

He rushed to her then and embraced her. If he never let go, it would still be too soon. She returned his affection in kind, and he felt several sobs rack her body as he pulled her ever closer. Her hair caressed his face as he whispered.

“There is none more worthy.”

She turned her face upwards then, just inches from his. Her vivid blue eyes were still stained with tears, yet they had never looked more beautiful to him.

“I love you too, you know.”

“I know,” he smirked back in reply.

“Which is why I have to do this.”

She waited for him to object, give her some reason why she was wrong.

“Honestly, I would expect nothing less of you.”

She nodded against his chest as the two of them swayed in place, everything else forgotten.

“I let him get away once. This time, it will end differently. He made me this way, he is going to regret ever teaching me. It is time to go back to where it began. I but need to find the quickest way.”

Jon kissed her gently.

“You are in luck, I know a guy.”

\------

The crowd was but a blur as we walked down the aisle step by step. He struggled to differentiate the faces that stared back at him but they all merged together until he could not tell them apart. It didn't matter. He knew the one person he was looking for was not present.

He glanced sideways at Daenerys walking beside him. She took short measured steps as they walked together, her arm in his. He walked carefully, ever present of the fact that one wrong step on her long flowing dress could send them both tumbling. Something he was keen to avoid. He caught her staring and she gave him a shy smile. He did his best to appear agreeable before turning away to face the endless sea of onlookers.

The Great Hall was packed. Due to the recent demise of the Great Sept of Baelor, the Great Hall was serving as the location for their wedding. It was out of the ordinary, although not without precedent. They had struggled to find a respectable septon left in the city as well. The city was left without a High Septon after Cersei's short reign of terror and Daenerys had yet to appoint a new one. From reading her reports, it was still on her list of things to do.

They had finally managed to find someone to officiate the wedding, and that septon now stood before the Iron Throne. He was respectable enough, yet a little bit too snobbish for Jon's taste. Still, they had to make do with what they had. Jon would have preferred to be married according to the traditions of the Old Gods, yet the Faith of the Seven was the main religion of the Seven Kingdoms. It had been made abundantly clear to him that this marriage was mainly for political reasons. It made sense that the religion chosen would be so as well.

They approached the foot of the stairs before the portly main celebrating the wedding. Traditionally, a father would give his daughter away to the groom waiting at the alter.

_But this marriage is anything but that._

While Daenerys embraced many of the traditional elements of the monarchy, she had made it clear that she was willing to change things where she saw fit. They climbed the flight of stairs until they were standing before the round septon. He nodded to each of them in turn before beginning.

“You may now cloak the groom and bring him under your protection.”

Jon turned his back to her as they had practiced as she removed a brilliant two sided robe from her shoulders that fell down to her feet. On one side it was a deep red, the rich color of blood. On the other it was black, black as night.

With out further ceremony, she place the robe across his broad shoulders, smoothing it out with her hands expertly as she placed him under her protection. He smiled internally at the thought.

_Robb would never let me hear the end of this._

They turned to face the septon once again who continued, his voice rumbling low, echoing throughout the Great Hall with gravitas.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.”

As the septon spoke, Jon took Daenerys hand in his. She squeezed his tightly in return. The septon stepped forward with a silk ribbon and tied their two joined hands together lightly.

He nodded to them.

“Look upon one another and say the words.”

Jon turned to face her as she did the same. Their gazes locked, like gravity, drawn to one another. Together in unison they recited the vow.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

“I am his...”

“I am hers...”

“...and he is mine...”

“...and she is mine...”

“...from this day, until the end of my days.”

Silence reigned over the Hall.

_I remember another vow I took, a lifetime ago..._

The septon moved towards them and placed his right hand on the smooth cloth that tied them together.

“Let it be known,” the septon began. “That Jon of House Stark, and Daenerys of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, and one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

With that, he retreated a step and looked at the pair of them expectantly. Jon looked at her again, her eyes dark pools, filled with mysterious, unknown waters. He leaned in closer, bending his neck ever so slightly to accommodate her height. His lips brushed hers, if only just for a second. Her lips were warm, and tasted faintly of some exotic substance he was unfamiliar with. They turned to face the crowd and a wave of applause crashed into them threatening to undo his steely composure.

They began their long walk down through the crowd once again. Daenerys nodded gracefully to the people as they walked, her hand still tightly clutched in his. The best he could muster was a tight smile through pursed lips. The bodies that were packed around them melded together once again, and although he was walking through a crowd of people, he felt very alone.

\---Daenerys---

The moonlight spilled through the the window and cast its gaze upon Daenerys. Her fingers tapped restlessly on the windowsill as she waited. Her thoughts swirled incoherently and her nerves tingled with anticipation.

_I knew that last cup of wine was a bad idea._

The evening was almost completed, the feast that had lasted far into the night was long over. There was but one thing left to do, and it had her stomach in a knot. Missandei had attended to her after the feast but had since left. Daenerys now stood in the pale light, her long hair fell around her shoulders shrouding her face in shadows. Missandei had dressed her in a thin gown that smelled faintly of flowers but did little to keep the chill out of air. She didn't mind. The cool air felt refreshing against the warmth of her skin.

A slight knock on her door caused her to jump slightly and the sound echoed throughout the quiet room. She turned to see who it was knowing full well already who was at her door. She reached the door and hesitated slightly composing herself before she pulled it open. She was prepared, yet still the sight of him took her breath away.

Jon stood before her, looking as nervous as she felt. He shifted from one foot to the other as she drank in the sight of him. His long curly hair was pulled back behind his head, save for one long strand that traced its way across his face. She longed to brush it back into its place but she held her ground; her hand stayed at her side. His piercing dark eyes glowed with intensity, the moon reflected in them.

He looked past her into her room and she suddenly remembered that he was standing there in her doorway, waiting for her to invite him in. She spoke breathlessly.

“Come in Jon.”

She stepped aside to let him pass and he did so. His gaze seemed to take in every inch of her room as he entered before once again settling on her. She smiled shyly at him as she closed the door behind her and then leaned up against it with her back. They stood there in silence for several heartbeats before she moved away from the door and sauntered slowly to a table adorned with a bottle and two glasses decorated with gold filigree. She poured a glass for herself.

“Would you care for a drink?”

His eyes never left her as he shook his head. She took a drink, larger than she intended to at first, even though she knew it would not help. She had been trying to compose herself all night but something about him kept her unsettled. She had been unsettled before, by Mirri Maz Duur, the Undying Ones, the Masters, but this was different. When their hands had joined during the wedding, her stomach had flipped at his touch. And whenever he looked her way, as he was doing now, her heart skipped a beat.

She finally had control over everything she had ever wanted.. Control over her city, her kingdom, and her people. But now despite this, it seemed like she had lost control over heart. Her heart beat faster as he moved closer to her and she placed her drink back down on the table and turned to face him. He moved slowly, as if a predator stalking its prey, moving quietly to avoid its attention.

_In that regard, he reminds me a little of Drogon._

He closed the gap between them and she realized that she needed to breathe. He reached up to her face and his fingers traced a path down her cheek. Warmth blossomed on her skin where he had touched her and she blushed as he tucked a wayward strand of her silver hair that cascaded down in front of her, behind her ear. She cursed silently at his willingness to do what she had been afraid of.

His hand dropped as if he suddenly became aware of what he was doing and she pouted. She wanted to feel his touch again, to feel the warmth that ignited on contact once again. She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him close. She needed him, but she needed him to need _her_ more.

They stood in silence, a silence that spread throughout the room and filled it from floor to ceiling. Jon's slow breathing was the only sound in the room and it seemed to steady her, ground her in some way she did not even comprehend. Just when Daenerys thought she could take the stillness no longer, Jon moved. His nimble fingers began to work on the ribbon that held his shirt together in the front.

She watched him work slowly yet expertly as he unlaced the final ribbon that held together his shirt. He shrugged out of it and it fell to the floor. In the dim light of the room, his pale skin seemed white, not unlike the snow that these northerners seemed to love so much. He was built well, years of fighting had hardened and defined his body. She tired to commit every line to memory, but almost cried out when she saw it.

Jagged silver lines marred his otherwise smooth skin. They seemed to almost glow in the moonlight.

_Hearing his story was one thing. But seeing is believing..._

He noticed the worried look on her face and seemed to grow self conscious of his sudden half nakedness. She knew baring himself to her as he had was no easy task for him. She reached forward hesitantly and when she received no opposition, began to trace the scar that covered his heart with her hand. The scar was cool to the touch, his skin growing cooler from the prolonged open contact to the air. Yet when she placed her full hand on his chest to feel the repetitive thud echoed there, the fire underneath was undeniable.

He shivered slightly, although if it was from her touch or the cool air, she could not tell. She reached down and took him by the hand. Her bed was but a short distance from where they had been standing and she quickly guided him to its side. She stood in front of him and he looked questioningly at her. She put her hand squarely on the middle of his chest and pushed. The force was not great, yet he obliged and fell into a sitting position on the side of the bed.

She swallowed nervously and slowly climbed onto his lap. Her legs straddled his, and the thin fabric of her garment rode up high on her thigh revealing almost all of her milky white legs. His hands came to a rest on both of her thighs but he made no move otherwise. His eyes never left her face. Now it was her turn to shiver slightly yet she knew it was not the temperature that made her do so.

He was close now, so close, and she leaned forward until her chest was pressed against his. The beat of their hearts seemed to play in rhythm and her face hovered just in front of his. Time slowed, and she seemed to lose control of her body. Whose hands were these running up and down his chest? Whose lips were these making their way towards his?

She kissed him then, softly at first, relishing the contact, then proceeded to continue hungrily. He was like a delicious wine, the more she had, the more she wanted. Her tongue gently parted his lips, begging for access...

She let out a yelp in shock as his hands went to her hips and he lifted her bodily from him and deposited her on top of the bed. He stood quickly from where he had been sitting and put several paces between them. He stood with his back to her, the muscles of his back drawn taut. He ran one hand through his now tangled hair and exhaled deeply. He was clearly struggling with something.

“Daenerys,” he began suddenly turning to face her. The moon shining behind him blinded her ever so slightly and she didn't need to see his face to know he was fighting a private battle.

“I don't know if I can do this. I thought I could but...”

He trailed off looking away into the distance before continuing softly.

“I want to do my duty, I need to. I thought I was prepared to. I guess there are some things you can never be sure of until you face them.”

She bowed her head til her hair fell down around her face hiding her disappointment.

“Is it me? Is it something I have done?”

He rushed to her side at that, as if eager to remove any blame she might have been feeling. He knelt by the side of her bed and took both of her hands in his. He peered up at her, his face a picture of honest sincerity.

“Of course not Daenerys. You have been gracious and accepting of me this entire time. Whatever issues here, are mine alone. You are kind, beautiful, and the best ruler I have ever known. Frankly, I don't know what you even see in me.”

She smiled weakly at his compliments.

“So there is another then? Someone else you would rather be spending this night with?”

His silence was all the answer she needed.

“I will not force this on you Jon Snow. I know what that feels like.”

His eyes grew wide at that.

“I have not always been as lucky as I am right now. I have had as many ups and downs in life as most, maybe more.”

She had told Jon stories of her time spent across the Narrow Sea, although for the most part, she had managed to leave out the more unsavory bits.

“I know what it is like to enter into a marriage you do not want. I only hope that I can change your mind. This kingdom needs you, I need you Jon.”

He nodded solemnly and she relaxed a little bit. She had known him for a very short while, yet she did not need a length of years to know in her heart that he was a man of his word. He would not commit to something lightly.

He stood up rapidly once again, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I think it would be best if I retired to my own chambers tonight your Grace,” he began formally. “There is much I would think on.”

_He does like his brooding. It is a good thing he wears it so well._

She sighed, unwilling to keep him there against his will, and nodded her agreement. He had gathered up his shirt from the floor and was just about to leave when she had a change of heart.

“Jon,” she began, her voice quivering a little as she spoke. “I don't want to be alone tonight. Would you stay with me?”

He must have sensed the vulnerability in her voice, as his face softened considerable. He seemed to look at her in a new light as he spoke softly.

“Of course Daenerys.”

He made his way to her bedside for the second time that night, depositing his shirt unceremoniously on the floor once again. He climbed in bed with her and she tucked herself in beside him. She lay her head on his chest and draped her arm across his torso. He did not move to stop her, but instead wrapped his arm around her shoulder holding her tight.

The night wore on and she struggled to keep from succumbing to sleep's embrace. She knew what the morning would bring. Her duties would require the Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. And likewise Jon would don the mantle of the King in the North once again. But tonight, tonight they were just a boy and just a girl, safe and secure in each others arms.

 

  
  


  
  


 

 


	17. Chapter 17

\---Sam---

Sam sat in a dimly lit room, his attention held by his work spread out in front of him. The room was not large, but neither was it too small. It was the perfect size, snug and cozy, and to Sam it fit their needs like a good glove fit a hand. There was a simple bed in one corner and in front of him, a humble rough hewn table was piled high with books and papers. Gilly sat in front of the crackling fire humming to baby Sam as she rocked him back and forth.

He smiled quietly to himself at the song she was humming before refocusing back on his work. He carefully moved his way through the small book n his hand, mindful of the pages so as to avoid damaging them. He had lost track of how many times he read through the book cover to cover. At this point, he was intimately familiar with the books holdings.

He flipped to a loose page that was tucked into the book containing the random thoughts of some long forgotten academic. The writing was faint and difficult to read but it clearly described someone known as 'Hyrkoon the Hero'. He briefly scanned the page again before deciding to move on.

He leafed through the pages before settling on a chapter describing the life and adventures of Yin Tar. There was not much to go on in the book and what little there was, Sam could make neither heads nor tails of. It seemed as though in some places, the book would ramble on and abruptly end right in the middle of its prose. This was one of those cases and it annoyed Sam to no end.

He came to another chapter, regarding some long forgotten hero named Neferion. Page by page as he read, a running dialogue had been chronicled in the blank spaces on the page until there was no more room left. It appeared as though this chapter had been used for a debate between two scholars at one point that had left neither happy or convinced of the other sides merits. He found their argumentative comments entertaining, if a little snobbish. In any case, he believed them both to be wrong.

Baby Sam let out a cry, or was it a word? He had grown so much as of late. The time seemed to fly by with his nose buried in his books every day. Sam surveyed the desk in front of him. The book he held in his hand, 'A Song of Ice and Fire', had held not an insignificant amount of letters within its fragile binding. Sam had carefully sifted through each and read them, stacking them in the same order that they had been arranged in the book when he was finished with them.

On his second read through of the letters, something had piqued his attention and sent him scurrying through the pages of the book again. He thumbed through the books until he came to the last section he had been looking for. The chapter was titled 'Eldric Shadowchaser' in exquisite ornate font. The text was different in this chapter as he read. It appeared that the book had been compiled by many different authors, maybe over the span of several generations.

He scanned the first page until he located what he had been looking for.

_One name stands out from the rest. In this analysis, I propose that Eldric Shadowchaser was the progenitor of House Dayne and is intimately related to many institutions in Westeros such as the Night's Watch, the Sword of the Morning, and many others._

_Eldric, while not a terribly common name, holds but little significance. 'Shadowchaser' on the other hand is far more interesting. Broken into its individual pieces, it brings the imagery of literally chasing away the shadows, or bringing the light, the morning, the dawn._

Sam took a sip from the glass of water on the table, wetting his parched throat before locating his place on the page once more and continuing.

_Lightbringer was the name assigned to the famous sword used during the Long Night to help usher in its end. After the Long Night had passed, the blade no longer was required to bring the light, and was renamed 'Dawn'. The blade was then passed down to the 'Sword of the Morning', which is an institution we will explore further later in this chapter._

Sam flipped the page gently and his eyes went to the top of the page.

_Some argue that Lightbringer was forged by the folding of dragonglass and iron, the resulting material forming dragonsteel. Yet others believe it was forged from the heart of a great fallen star. I will not pretend to know or comprehend the materials and methods used when forging Lightbringer. Instead, I will put forth a location for the forging of Lightbringer, Battle Island._

_This location holds significance for many reasons, most of which I will not get into here. I put forth that a great battle was fought here. Whether it was the actual 'Battle of the Dawn' or just the initial victory against the Others, I cannot say. There are several reasons that lead me to make this claim._

_First, as I have already described, I believe this to be the location of the forging of Lightbringer. The forging of this great weapon represented the turning of the tide in the war against the Others. The legendary black stone from the Great Empire of the Dawn is found in Oldtown. Hightower itself sits on a foundation made out of fused black stone. This black stone was used in the fortresses of old and I put forth that it was used as an effective defense against the Others._

_As to its exact properties and why it was so successful in its use, I cannot say here for sure. Anything I would list here would be nothing but speculation and would be of no great value. Instead, I would focus on the last reason why I believe Oldtown crucial in this story._

_Oldtown was one of the few locations in Westeros that contained glass candles. These candles of old were used for communication, and I believe that the victory over the Others was communicated far and wide. This is how the story of The Last Hero was able to spread to every corner of the known world._

Sam paused and stretched his arms while letting what he had just read sink in. He yawned widely. The day was growing long, but now was not the time to quit. His fingers went back to the page of the book and he traced the ink lightly with his fingers as he read.

_Following Eldric's victory against the Others, the forces of man were revitalized. Eldric turned his gaze north to the one location in the heart of winter that stood as an island in the sea of destruction. Winterfell as we know it today, is situated atop a geothermal heat source. A ringfort most likely predated Winterfell. There, combined with the natural source of heat and the proclivity of the location towards dragonglass, the conditions were ripe for an effective defense against the Others._

_I believe that Eldric traveled north to help defeat the Others and end the Long Night once and for all. While most believe a great battle took place, I believe that a cease fire was most likely. While the Others were still winning the war, it had become clear to them, that the realms of men had gained the tools to put up a significant resistance. This coupled with the fact that the Others were far from the Lands of Always Winter, led them to decide upon a peace agreement with the progenitor of House Stark, Brandon Stark. Otherwise known as Bran the Builder._

_To commemorate the truce, Bran the Builder raised a great castle and named it Winterfell. As part of the truce, House Stark was established as the 'Kings of Winter' and the 'Kings in the North'. The North is scarcely populated and would serve as a sort of 'buffer zone' if you will, between the forces of ice and the realms of men._

_To manifest this separation in a single structure, the Wall was established using ice magic. I believe it was created from a collaboration between Bran the Builder and the Others. The Wall was manned by the Watch, a group established from the ranks of man and the Others alike. Together, their job was to ensure separation and peace between the two sides for the years to come._

A gentle snoring drifting from in front of the dying fire caught Sam's attention and he turned to find Gilly and the baby fast asleep in their chair. He made his way gently to her side and woke her from her slumber. She nodded awake, blinking the sleep from her eyes. He lifted baby Sam from her lap and escorted her to the corner of the room where the bed resided. She gratefully fell into the mattress and Sam tucked the baby tightly into her arms before covering her with the heavy blanket at the foot of the bed. He stoked the fire before returning to his book.

_The Night's Watch was only one of the institutions formed to be a 'sword that guards the realms of men' , a direct link to Lightbringer. The Watch was dedicated as a neutral body that does not take part in the wars of man, but there were others as well._

_Eldric Shadowchaser foresaw that mankind is fickle, and forgetful, and so established the Sword of the Morning. Eldric of Starfall, as he became known, also established House Dayne to provide a pool of candidates so that his descendants could wield Lightbringer in the future should the need arise._

_Likewise, Eldric's good friend Bran the Builder, established House Stark. Some believe that the descendants of House Stark were infused with the blood of both man and the Others, while further scholars believe that Bran married an Others princess in order to cement the truce. Either way, the Starks seem to be intrinsically linked to the Others._

_Finally, and while this cannot be confirmed because no one has had contact with the Others in decades, I believe the Others established an equivalent institution to watch for signs that the realms of man were dishonoring the truce. Time can only tell what might drive the Others to intervene in the affairs of man once again._

Sam looked up from his book to the mess on the table and sorted through the stack of neatly ordered letters from the book. He pulled the one he needed from the pile, careful to not disrupt the rest of them. He opened the note slowly and read.

_Q,_

_I wish I had more time. I wish I had done a lot of things differently. Alas, as my life has proven, we do not always get what we want. I write to you now, so that you might continue my work should I fall. The times we live in are dire times, but not for the reasons most think. Something is stirring, I can feel it._

_The Stag is but the first ripple in the water. The true wave is soon to follow. My son, for I know it in my heart to be true, will need you. He will need all the help he can get. Would that I could reason with Ned, make him see what I see now. His input would be invaluable in what is to come._

_Arthur will be by Lyanna's side for the birth of my son. It is imperative that he be safe, important that he be surrounded by family. I urge you to make haste to the Tower of Joy for the birth. You know as well as I, what should happen should he be lost. If we are to make it through the Long Night that never ends, Lightbringer must be reunited once more with the Prince that was Promised._

_Your friend always,_

_Rhaegar_

The Targaryen seal sat below the signature in red. He placed it back in the stack of letters, all containing communication going back and forth between Rhaegar Targaryen and someone in the Citadel known only to him as 'Q'.

Sam took a deep breath to steady his nerves. There was still much he did not know, much he was just speculating on, but the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. He picked up a letter that sat open on the table face up. It was a royal invitation from the Queen herself. He had put off leaving for as long as possible in order to learn what he could. The time had come however, and he could no longer ignore the call. Jon needed him now, and he was resolved not to disappoint.

\---Arya---

Arya rolled her shoulders instinctively. They had been riding for hours, but despite the stiffness that had begun to set deep into her muscles, she was determined to stay loose. She knew better than most how quickly the most quiet of times could change on a whim.

Brienne stared at her expectantly from atop her horse and Arya struggled to recall what the knight had been saying.

“A pauldron, it should be a pauldron.”

A surprised look crossed Brienne's face. Clearly she had not thought that Arya was paying attention.

_Clearly she has underestimated Josh once again._

Arya scratched an itch on her face with the back of her hand. She had begun to settle into her new role as squire to the lady knight. Her new face was not unbearable and she had taken a liking to her new name.

_Josh is a good squires name, a good nickname. Easy to remember, and easy to shout out in the heat of battle. Joshua was too much of a mouthful._

The workload had proved to be more strenuous than Arya had first imagined, leaving her little time during the day to sneak around the city. For that, she had taken to venturing out at night. It was better that way to remain unseen anyways.

“Correct you are Josh. It would seem not all my teaching has been in vain.”

Arya dropped her head slightly. She played her part as a bashful squire well. At least she thought so. Precious few knew her true identity and she was planning on keeping it that way.

“Remind me again why we are out here spending the day riding our legs sore?”

She knew full well the reason. Yet your average squire did not have access to the kind of information that she did. Plus, from Arya's experience, the best way to put a superior at ease was to ensure them that they were still needed.

Brienne began right away, as if quoting orders given word for word.

“There have been reports of strange behavior in this part of the countryside. Packs of animals roaming at night. Strange men wondering, that sort of thing. The Queen wants to ensure everyone that no voice will go unheard, no matter how small.”

Arya nodded dutifully, trying to look like she was absorbing all this information thoughtfully. Brienne appeared to have nothing further to say on the matter and so the pair rode on in silence. To the left and right, heavily armed men escorted them down the way. The trees flanking them had long since shed their leaves and a chill in the air caused Arya to pull the hood on her shirt tighter around her neck.

While she was there under the pretense of learning from the lady knight, other orders had been given as well. Jon had requested that she observe and report on Brienne behavior. Since Sansa had left for the Vale, the lady had been irritated as of late, and mostly towards Jon. It seemed she resented the fact that Sansa had left without her normal protector and she blamed Jon for her disappearance. So far the lady had mentioned nothing to her and she was loath to pry for more information.

“I suppose when we return, we should walk through the steps I showed you yesterday again. Provided you are not too tired after the days riding.”

Arya turned away from her master so that Brienne could not see her roll her eyes in response. Brienne had begun to teach her rudimentary swordplay. The dull practice sword she used was large and clumsy in Arya's small hands and the lessons far too simple.

_After everything I have learned, here I am stuck 'learning' how to place my feet once again._

By far the worst part of her double identity was her need to 'learn' everything for the first time. She had complained as such to Jon, knowing she would receive little sympathy. It was all part of the job. He had simply laughed and informed her that most squires didn't know the pointy end of a sword from the handle, let alone what to do with it once they figured that out. As it turned out, she was the exception to the rule.

She plastered what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face before turning back.

“Of course not. I think I mastered what you have shown me so far. I am eager to move on!”

Brienne snorted, clearly not convinced.

“Let me be the judge of that. If you have come as far as you say you have, perhaps we can indeed move on to something more exciting.”

A beleaguered man burst from the tree line, his hair wild, red marks down the front of this face. His clothes were torn near shreds and he pulled up short in front of them, hands on his knees gasping for breath. He pointed back from where he came with his finger as he spoke.

“Chasing me...back there...in the woods. Lucky to escape...”

“Who was chasing you?” Lady Brienne spoke up quickly. “How many?”

The man ignored her first question.

“Too many to count. Hundreds maybe?”

At that, the men around them unsheathed their weapons as one. Their guard was made up of a strange amalgam of Dothraki and Westerosi knights. Daenerys had argued, and Jon had agreed, that the two, while as different as oil and water, needed to learn how to work together. While they had yet to see combat working as a single unit, if what the man said was true, that might change quickly. They had but roughly fifty men. Simply put, they might be in for a battle for their lives.

The men tightened ranks around Brienne, Arya by her side. The man continued to plead however.

“Please, my daughter is in there. You have to help her. They will kill her.”

The look on Brienne's face softened drastically.

“It could be a trap my Lady,” one of the guards spoke up. “Better to stay here.”

Arya could tell that Brienne had already made up her mind.

“Stay by my side.”

Arya nodded back as Brienne gave the order and as one, they urged their horses forward into the woods. They leaped across the ditch next to the road and funneled into the trees. The woods were less dense than they would have been during the summer but still, the men and horses were forced apart by the thickness of the undergrowth. The further they went, the less line of sight they retained despite they lack of leaves on the trees. Arya turned just in time to watch a branch go flying by over her head.

_Being short does have its advantages._

Her horse picked its way carefully over a fallen tree and around another rotting stump. Her eyes went up to take in her surroundings but there was no one in sight. Brienne must have veered in the other direction and taken the rest of the men with her. Still the loud sounds of horses crashing through the forest was not hard to follow and Arya was not concerned. She changed course to follow the path they had taken and she began the slow journey to catch back up.

After several minutes, Arya nudged her horse to pause and listen for her compatriots. She was still headed in the right direction, maybe just a few minutes behind. She was prepared to began following again when a sound caught her ear at the last moment. A howling in the distance, joined by others formed a semi-circle around her position out of sight.

_Ghost? Did he follow me out here? I saw him as we were exiting the city but I assumed he had made his own way._

Her horse trotted ahead nervously at the sound. Apparently she was not the only who had heard the calls. She urged her horse to go faster but the going was slow as they ventured further. She would rather not risk throwing a shoe or something worse that would force her to walk the rest of the way. She was a long way from home.

Howling echoed closer behind her and Arya turned in her seat to scan the woods behind her. Nothing visible, yet she felt the hair on her neck begin to stand on end. Her finely honed senses told her someone or something was out there just beyond her vision. Her mount whinnied in protest and that was all the convincing she needed.

Arya kicked her heals backwards, and together they leap forward at a gallop. The steady up and down rhythm that was easy to account for on a smooth road had a different effect altogether when trying to dodge branches at every turn. Arya kept her head on a swivel and was only able to keep her seat due to her quick reflexes.

Her vision blurred then shifted. She wiped at her eyes struggling to clear her head. Another wave hit her, threatening to topple her.

_She opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. She was close to the ground, too close. Where was her horse? She bent down at the neck and inhaled deeply. The damp smell of the ground was intoxicating, the scent of horse and leather hung stagnant in the air overwhelming. There was something present as well. Something familiar, something faint like a wisp of smoke, there one moment, gone the next._

_She dashed forward with alarming speed, feet flying nimbly over the uneven ground. She was almost there. So close now-_

Pain exploded in her temple as a branch snapped off from the impact. Suddenly she was falling, falling from an unexpected height. She readied herself for the impact as the ground rushed up to meet her. Despite the woozy state she was in, she still managed to tuck her neck and arms in and hit the ground with a roll, dissipating the impact over the length of her body. She came up into a crouched position and watched numbly as her horse continued to run on, oblivious to that fact that she was no longer atop it.

_Great. Brienne gives you one order, one simple little order and you can't even follow that. I always did work best on my own..._

She sat on the ground, legs tucked up underneath her, arm propped against the base of a tree for support and focused on the dark treeline ahead. She checked the strap on her back. Fortunately, Needle was still tightly secured in place although she imagined by the already growing ache, that a large bruise would soon adorn her back.

Movement followed by no sound drew her gaze and she focused on maintaining a steady heartbeat.

_Breathe, Arya, breathe._

That was when she saw it. No not it, them. Five wolves, rivaling the size of Ghost himself were slowly creeping towards her currently location. Running would do no good. Turning her back on them would ensure she would be as good as dead. Instead she eyed them, staring down each of them in turn. They snarled quietly but otherwise held their ground, arrayed before her like a crescent moon.

More were joining the flanks, and her peripheral vision caught sight of them approaching. They seemed to vary, in and out of sight, yet close enough enough that Arya could feel their presence. This was no ordinary pack, this was something different.

_Ironic I guess. A Stark going out, killed by a wolf pack._

The pack members were lean, she guessed they had seen better days. The five large animals arrayed before her were salivating at the chance for a fresh kill.

_At least they won't find me easy prey._

“Come on then,” she shouted defiantly. “What are you waiting for?”

The closest to her, the one in the middle flanked on either side by two, took a step forward, watching and judging her reaction. Arya stood still in a low crouch, not moving an inch backwards. The animal sprang forward violently, like an arrow loosed from a bow. She braced for impact but was knocked over by an unseen force. She fought to regain her balance.

Before her stood the largest wolf she had ever seen. It stood atop a wrestling ball of fur who whimpered at its sudden fate. Arya recognized it as the wolf who had moved to attacked her, now dwarfed in comparison to the newcomer. Arya held her breath as the new arrival turned to face her.

_Not a wolf, a direwolf._

Dark golden eyes shone through the twilight that was beginning to settle into the forest. A heavy coat of grey fur covered a lean but muscular frame. If she had not witnessed Daenerys' dragons firsthand, this would have been the apex predator of Westeros. She had changed so much, but all Arya could see was the small wolf she had been, the day Arya had forced her from her side.

_Nymeria! You are alive!_

She wanted to rush to Nymeria's side, yet something told her that would not be wise. Instead she held her ground as her direwolf moved towards her. Nymeria's large feet padded soundlessly across the forest floor. She came to a stop before Arya. Arya had to look up to meet her golden glowing eyes. It was like finding a part of oneself that you thought had been lost forever. As if her mind was opened wide, her full potential suddenly realized.

Nymeria knocked Arya over onto the ground with her head and Arya feared for a second that Nymeria had forgotten who she was. Her fear washed away as Nymeria jumped around and across her fallen body in a state of euphoria. The direwolf wagged her tail furiously as she moved overjoyed to have been reunited. Her large warm tongue lavished Arya's face with praise and she could do nothing but laugh. Her laughter filled the silent night, echoing into the distance unheard by naught but furry ears.

\---Jon---

Jon hesitated before strapping on his sword. After so many years of never leaving his room without it, he had grown accustomed to leaving it behind during his time spent in King's Landing. It was a time of surprising peace, for however long it would last, and his duties as King of the North, and new husband to Daenerys did not often warrant the use of a blade. Still, it felt good to buckle it on again, to feel the reassuring weight pulling at his hip ever so slightly.

He crossed his room shutting the door behind him as he moved and made his way towards Daenerys' chambers. It had been a quieter day than normal for her. Instead of receiving guests in the Great Hall like usual, she had been treating to several important lords one from Highgarden and another from some city in Dorne that continued to slip his mind every time he tried to recall its name. In short, while the volume of her guests had been less, the importance of her meetings had increased.

He leaned against the open doorway of her room, nodding succinctly to the Unsullied standing by as guard. They did not even bother to look his direction, his presence as unnoticed and common-placed as could be. After their marriage, Daenerys had insisted he take on a personal guard, something he vehemently refused. He had argued that he could more than take care of himself and they should allocate the resources elsewhere. She argued that he was too important to leave unguarded, no matter his high opinion of his own abilities.

In the end he had given in, arguing with her was like arguing with a stone wall, you weren't going to win. He had compromised instead, allowing a small guard to be posted around him, providing he could hand pick the men, and that they would stay a discreet distance away at all times. He felt silly walking to the dining hall in the morning surrounded by heavily armed men as he ate his breakfast. In the end, he had picked several of his own men, men from the North, and several more Unsullied that Grey Worm had personally selected.

_We all have to live and work together in these strange times. I might as well set a good example_

Daenerys had approved.

He watched as she struggled to hold back a yawn from her over-sized chair that dominated the middle of her room. She had been at it since sunup, and he could tell her attention was waning. She caught him staring and she smiled tiredly back at him. It was all the invitation he needed. He strode into the room slowly, making his presence felt. He had been used to going everywhere unseen, unnoticed. With his sudden change in position, that had quickly changed.

While he knew everything he needed to know about how to fight like a king, in truth, he knew little about how to rule like one. Mostly he just imagined his father's voice in his head whenever he came to a difficult decision.

_Not father, uncle._

Daenerys on the other hand, knew how to put on a show. She taught him how to act, walk and talk like a king. Someone whose very presence demanded respect. Through steady patience and resolve, she taught him, and he learned. He learned how to fill a room with his presence from the best.

_She does that better than any I have known. Here she sits, tired, yet still her force of will is undeniable. She demands attention._

Her audience turned to see who the intruder was and quickly rose as they realized who he was.

“King Jon,” they muttered respectfully as they bowed deeply at the waists.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Jon began wryly, knowing full well that he was. “I believe I need to steal my wife away from you for a while. I hope you don't mind.”

His tone implied that he cared little what they thought one way or the other.

“Of course your Grace,” the shorter of the two spoke lithely. “We can continue this at another time.”

The pair bowed in turn to Daenerys and then exited the roomed flanked by several Unsullied who escorted them away. Daenerys seemed to brighten a bit as they left and she stood up from her seat and stretched ever so elegantly.

“I thank you dear husband. Those two though well meaning, were becoming quite tiresome. Your timing was impeccable.”

He shrugged as if it was nothing.

“You know me. Doing what I do best. Rescuing my wife from the clutches of well meaning men.”

Something flashed for a moment in her eyes and then it was gone. She moved to his side and gently placed her hand on his arm, tugging as if a young child trying to get her way.

“Take me someplace Jon, take me far away from here.”

At that moment he saw her not only as the queen of Westeros, but as someone just trying to hold everything together. In that regard, they were very much the same.

“How about the western wall? I heard they are having a small ceremony today in celebration of its completion? The breach has been completely repaired.”

Her laughter was so cheery and genuine he could not help himself but smile.

“Oh Jon, you sure do know how to spoil a girl.”

Arm in arm they walked out of her room and down the hallway until they made their way outside. Her Unsullied bodyguards folded in behind them as they walked. He slowly recounted his day then listened as she outlined the new trade agreement she was brokering with several different houses. He was glad she was the one handling it.

The trip to the wall was uneventful, if slow. The throngs pressed in around them, desperate to get as close as they could could to their new Queen and King. Daenerys was patient and kind, stopping to greet many of them personally as they made their way out from the Red Keep. He could tell the Unsullied were nervous with the peoples unfettered access to their Queen, yet they held their ground and did their job, not saying a word.

A small wooden platform had been raised in front of the complete reparation of the wall. A stout man was giving a speech as they arrived and he introduced them as they drew closer still. The workers cheered at their arrival but quickly went back to listening to the man's speech. He droned on and on about the good of the realm before beginning to call men forward and hand out rewards. These few men were architects,, craftsmen whose work had been invaluable. Daenerys had promised those skilled laborers who joined her would be rewarded greatly and she was true to her word.

The wall was an interesting patchwork of old and new, forced to work together despite the differences. Red stone butted up against grey, and here and there, white stone and even stone with a green hue competed for their places in the city wall. A narrow stairway led to the top of the wall and Jon followed suit as Daenerys dismounted from her horse handing the reins to another.

“Come on Jon,” she exclaimed over the dull roar of the crowd. “I want to see the view from the top.”

He lost sight of her pretty form amongst the crowd of dirt and grime covered workers. He scrambled to keep up with her and exited the crowd at the base of the stairs to find her already ascending. He climbed up above the crowd following close behind her, enjoying the change of perspective.

As they reached the top, the air seemed to clear a little, and the roar of the city faded away. She made for the edge of the wall and looked out over the empty field outside the city, arms leaning up against the rough stone. He admired the view for a second before moving to join Daenerys by her side.

“It's so beautiful.”

“Yes it is,” he admitted.

“And to think, just a short while ago it was littered with the carnage of war. How quickly things change.”

He looked out over the field. Far in the distance a smudge of dust touched the horizon, most likely a Dothraki scouting party returning home. Several caravans with varying amounts of wagons trundled towards the city at a snails pace. He knew her dragons danced overhead just out of sight. The wind softly caressed his ear and he listened intently as a howl in the distance, soft as silk, sang its song into the sky.

“Tell me a story Jon.”

Daenerys looked at him eagerly, a playful look on her face.

“Tell me something of the North. Are all the men there as somber as you?”

He glared at her in mock anger before giving in and playfully pushing her away.

“I jest,” she laughed. “But still, tell me something of the land of snow. All I know is what these people have told me.”

She gestured around the city with her arms as she spoke.

Jon cleared his throat trying to come up with a story that could adequately explain the North. He was no poet, and his words would surely do his home injustice.

“The North is hard and cold, and has no mercy,” he began. She looked solemnly back at him as he spoke.

“Yet there is a special kind of beauty to it, a clarity. It is there, if you take the time to stop and look at it.”

He paused for a second while debating on what to say next.

“I had no place for myself growing up. Sure, I was close with several of my brother's and sisters, and father was more than gracious enough to take me into his home. Yet I was not one of them. I was an outsider. Apart yet the same, living in two different worlds. Growing up I dreamed of living somewhere that I belonged, somewhere I would be welcome. I wanted to join the Knight's Watch more than anything in the world.”

Daenerys shifted beside him as he spoke.

“Finally father granted me permission to join and I was overjoyed. Finally I could join an honorable brotherhood and dedicate my life to keeping the world, my family, safe.”

He lost his train of thought and stared out over the field. He continued softly.

“I never knew my mother, but I imagine I was doing this partly for her, partly to protect her. Do you know what the last thing my father said to me was? ' The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother. I promise.'”

He glanced sideways at her. She seemed enthralled in what he was letting slip free, glad he was beginning to open up. He cleared his head and continued gruffly.

“Anyways, once I made my way to the Wall, it quickly became apparent just how wrong I had been. The Knight's Watch was made up of murderers, thieves and rapists. It was as ugly as it was necessary. Aye, there were a few good men, men I grew to trust and respect. Some even became like brothers to me. The first time I ascended the Wall, I was filled with despair. What had I got myself into?”

Jon was hesitant to continue, his voice catching in his throat. But Daenerys placed her hand gently on his shoulder as he leaned against the cold stone and he soldiered on.

“I stood there on the edge of the Wall. The wind blew by freezing the tips of my nose and the fingers, dancing and tugging, inviting me to jump off into the nothingness. There was fog below the wall, so much fog that it covered the ground obscuring it from sight. If I had fallen, I felt like I would never have landed.”

He turned to face her fully then.

“Yet despite all this, despite the ugliness of the men around me, and the danger on top of the Wall. All I could think abut was how beautiful it was. How the snow stretched on forever, marred only by the clumps of trees and jutting mountains until it reached the grey sky, merging into one. How despite feeling different my entire life, there on top of the Wall towering high above the entire North, I felt at one with it all.”

He turned away to hide his face, as memories seeped back into him of days long spent.

“The North is a cruel yet beautiful mistress, and there is none like her.”

He regained his composure in time to see her give him an odd look.

“I wouldn't expect you to understand,” he said trying but failing to keep a bitter edge out of his voice.

“No Jon its not that just...” she took a breathe before continuing.

“I didn't know you had such a way with words.”

He flushed slightly at her praise, unsure of what to say or do next. She gave him a small smile.

“I would dare say I understand a little better what makes the men of the North so special.”

The rosy hue of his complexion went brighter still as he stared out over the land in front of him stretching endlessly on.

“You are too kind.”

“Worthy words for a worthy husband.”

She nudged him gently with her elbow and he could not help but let a smile creep across his face.

“But seriously Jon, all of this,” she gestured toward the city. “It would have been impossible if it wasn't for your tireless support. I owe you.”

He shook his head slightly.

“You owe me nothing Daenerys. It is my honor. Besides what are spouses for if not to help one another.”

“A team,” she interjected. “Working together equally.”

He nodded fervently.

“Anyway, I have no doubt you could have handled this on your own. You are a remarkable woman Daenerys.”

Now it was her turn to grow red, yet he was sure she looked much prettier blushing than he had.

They stood together in comfortable silence, her leaning into him until he broke the stillness offering her his arm.

“I would say it is about time to get back wouldn't you. There are still a few things I would accomplish before days end.”

She graciously accepted his arm and the pair made their way down the stairs. A crowd was still gathered at the foot of the stairs, mostly just milling around aimlessly, but a cheer went up on their arrival once again. Daenerys smiled and waved politely while Jon walked in mostly stoic silence. Their guard merged with them seamlessly as they met the ground and paused while Jon helped Daenerys atop her horse before mounting his own.

“Have you had any word from your sister Sansa,” Daenerys began as they made their way back towards the Red Keep.

“Has she made it to her uncles side yet?”

Jon's mood soured slightly at the mention of Sansa but he tried not to show it.

“Not yet no. I imagine she will report on his health once she arrives. With any luck, she can convince him to return with her to the city.”

Daenerys nodded her agreement and silence fell between them once more as they rode, broken only by the cheering of the crowds lined up to watch them pass. They arrived at an intersection in the main road, one of the last ones before they reached the Red Keep again. This one was different than the previous ones they had passed by. The Unsullied who went before them had been unsuccessful in clearing the way, the numbers were just too great.

They pulled up short, not wanting to wade into the crowd on horseback.

“Do you mind if I stop here a while and speak with them?”

Her tone implied a question, yet he knew she would do as she pleased. The mother of dragons did not ask for permission.

“Of course.”

He dismounted and moved quickly to help her do the same. His hands went to her waist as she came down and he steadied her lest she fall. He was close to her now, very close. Her eyes twinkled and he was eminently aware of her proximity to him. She stood up quickly on the tips of her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. The crowd roared their approval.

He was half stunned by the sudden, very public display of affection, but she was already gone, lost into the swaying crowd. He hurried to follow, not wanting to lose sight of her. He approached her while she spoke softly with a child, her guards kept most of the press of the throngs away. He stood over her protectively, scanning the crowd as she continued her conversation with the child.

She finished, and ruffled the little boy's hair before moving on to the next petitioner. Daenerys approached a young woman and they began conversing. A flash of red in the crowd drew Jon's attention. He struggled to regain sight of it, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He moved to Daenerys' side and placed his hand on the small of her back to draw her attention as he leaned in conspiratorially.

“I think it best we move on.”

She looked at his serious expression and nodded without hesitation.

“Thank you for your time and ideas,” she spoke kindly to the woman. “I fear it is time we must be moving on though.”

The young woman bowed slightly and melted back into the crowd. The crowd had not lessened as Jon had hopped. If anything it had grown. Nevertheless, he was resolved that they should move on. Something felt off, made him uneasy but he couldn't quite place why. He moved to help Daenerys mount her horse once again but as he turned, he noticed a figure cloaked in red blocking her way.

_Not red really, more of maroon._

He could not tell for sure but he knew it to be the figure he had seen before in the crowd.

_How did he slip past the Unsullied unnoticed?_

He tensed, only a step behind Daenerys, and held his ground waiting for the man to act.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” the man began in a gravely voice. “The Lannisters send their regards.”

The man moved, pulling a weapon from his cloak that gleamed in the air. The man was fast, but Jon was quicker. There was no time to draw Longclaw, so instead he went for the long wicked dagger sequestered on his belt. He shoved Daenerys out of the way and with a horizontal slash, tore asunder the attackers throat mid strike.

Blood spilled everywhere as the man's hands went to his throat eyes in shock. The crowd erupted in pandemonium, surging in every direction trying to escape the packed intersection.

“To the Queen!” Jon shouted above the din of the crowd. “Protect the Queen!”

His cries fell on deaf ears. Their Unsullied bodyguard were engaged everywhere by figures in red. The Unsullied ditched their spears that they seemed to love so much in favor of short swords, much quicker and nimbler in close quarter combat. Still, the Unsullied were hard pressed by their foes. Jon counted the odds to be at least two to one against their favor with who knew how many more on the way.

_We just have to hold on for a short while._

The Unsullied made regular patrols along the city streets and he new a commotion of this magnitude would not go unnoticed for long.

_Keep her safe Jon, keep her safe. Wait, where is she?_

He whirled in panic to find her standing behind him in shock, eyes glazed over. He shook her rapidly.

“Daenerys, I need you now. Snap out of it.”

She seemed to regain her composure and she bobbed her head shakily.

“Stay behind me. The Unsullied will take care of this.”

In truth, he had his doubts in their ability to keep the attackers at bay, but there was no reason to trouble her with that knowledge. He moved in a circle around her crouched low, ready to spring should a foe make its through their guard. Unfortunately one did.

A man in red delivered a killing blow to one of the Unsullied and looked their direction. He charged recklessly and Jon stepped forward slowly to meet his advance. The would be queenslayer swung viciously at Jon who ducked under the blow at the last possible second. He buried his sword to the hilt in the belly of the man before ripping it free as he moved by.

Jon turned on his heel just as another man approached Daenerys from the opposite direction. He panicked as he realized he would not have enough time, he could not block the man's approach. Daenerys stood her ground as Jon rushed to her side.

The man bellowed loudly as he neared her and thrust hard with a jagged blade the length of Jon's forearm. The man missed, or rather Daenerys was no longer where she had been standing. She sidestepped his rush effortlessly and let his momentum carry him past while at the same time, she whirled, dress twirling around her, and sunk a bejeweled dagger into the attackers back.

He gawked at her sudden outburst of violence. She caught the look on his face out of the corner of her eye.

“What?” she shrugged questioningly, a smirk creeping across her face. “You aren't the only one who can learn new tricks.”

He grinned wolfishly, a grin that was further accentuated by the blood spatter that he could feel dripping down his cheeks. They were far from out of the woods however, although he could feel the tide shifting in their favor. There was no time to rest on their laurels as Jon glided effortlessly to intercept another man picking his way towards Daenerys.

They clashed with the ringing peel of steel on steel. Jon parried the mans strokes without giving ground. The man was fast and experienced. This was not some untrained rabble. These were professionals. They exchanged blows as Jon moved his feet in rhythm to his sword. He clashed with the man and locked blades as they moved together as if twirling to a song.

Jon adjusted the pressure on his grip, and with his new found leverage and a small flick of his wrist, sent his opponents blade skittering away. He wasted no hesitation and beheaded the man in one clean sweep. The head fell at Daenerys' feet and she glanced at it with nothing but disdain. The city bells were tolling now, and Jon had no doubt that help was close. The Unsullied had evened the odds and were continuing to fight man-to-man.

Movement atop a nearby roof drew his attention and he watched in horror as a shrouded figure drew back a bow nearly his height in length. The arrowhead shimmered as it was released and raced towards its intended target. He cried out wordlessly and flung himself forward.

Pain erupted in his shoulder unabated, an explosion that rocked his body, and he landed on the ground with a thud. The air was driven from his body by the impact. He tried to breathe but could not. After several moments of panic, he was finally able to suck down precious life giving air. The pain was mind numbing and he dumbly groped at his shoulder with his opposite hand.

Someone approached from his side and slid in next to him. She spoke, but in his state, all he could make out was unintelligible drivel. Her knees were pressed against his side and she was inspecting his shoulder.

_This isn't right. Her dress will get soiled_

He tried to speak but she shushed him, his hearing slowly returning as the pounding in his head began to subside. The pain was still great, but he had endured worse. He focused on her voice and attempted to block out what he could of the pain, lessen it as much as possible.

“It is going to be alright Jon. The maesters are on their way. They will be here soon.”

He was dimly aware of the Unsullied that were now pouring into the intersection, securing all of the entrances as they went. Daenerys pulled his head into her lap, whispering an apology as he cursed from the movement. She hummed softly a song that he did not recognize as she stroked his forehead gently removing the loose threads of his hair from his vision.

He looked up at her through his pain addled haze. Her blond hair framed her face perfectly, yet tears glistened in her eyes.

_Show me the man who has caused her this pain. So that I might end him._

Jon was in no condition for movement however. He was simply content to lie still in her arms. Darkness rushed up to meet him, and like once before, he embraced it.

 


	18. Chapter 18

\---Melisandre---

Snow was all she saw. White, cold, blowing snow. Banks of it lay in drifts all around her. It fell from the gray, threatening sky in large clumps and blanketed the ground. For miles and miles around her, it stretched on never ending. Sleep brought no relief. In her dreams she was surrounded by it, haunted by Snow.

She rubbed at her neck absentmindedly with her hand, only to quickly thrust it back inside her clock as the cold bit at her exposed skin. The pain had long since faded, yet it would return like a phantom when she least expected it.

The wind nipped at her eyes, and she shut them partially, her eyelashes acting as a shield. She could not tell which way they were going by her surroundings, but she could tell by the ever worsening weather that there was only one way they could be going. North.

Thoros rode by her side. Their horses struggled through the snow, so close together that their flanks brushed against one another as they went. The rest of the men were in no better shape than she was. They hunched into the wind and snow, trying and failing to keep the cold at bay. Altogether they were a miserable lot, save for the one who guided them through the storm.

The Red Lady rode at the front of their narrow column, blazing a trail through the snow, burning like a torch in the night. She stood out against the white landscape, the only color Melisandre could see for miles.

_Surely if we were to lose sight of her, even for a second, we would be lost forever._

They had yet to encounter the dead. So far not a single living thing had been seen outside of their sorry band.

_At least I have that to be thankful for._

Melisande had long since lost track of the days during their journey. Their food was running low, that much she could be certain of. Stuck in the white abyss, all time seemed to cease. Her stomach growled to remind her again that dinner time had long since passed and she rubbed it. Rubbed it out of hunger but also for the heat it provided under her stiff clothing.

The sudden lack of movement jarred her from her clumsy thoughts. She looked up to see what had brought them to a halt and for the first time in a long while, she could see something ahead that was not white. Yet what she saw did little to comfort her. Instead, the sight ahead made her insides even colder still.

A wall stood before them. Not of stone or wood or even snow. A wall of flesh stood immobile. The dead were blocking their path, watching, waiting.

_This is it. R'hllor, how could you let it end like this!?_

She waited for the end. For the seemingly endless crowd ahead to surge around them like a wave to drown under. Yet still there was no movement except for the ever present snow and the impatient stamping of the horses.

They were moving again. Lady Stoneheart had urged her horse forward and against her better judgment, Melisandre found herself following. She wanted to cry out, say something, nudge her horse galloping in the opposite direction. Yet as much as she feared the crowd ahead, disobeying the Lady frightened her greater still.

They were so close now, close enough to make out the features of the dead. Most were in various forms of decay, yet there were a few that looked relatively fresh. All of them were frozen solid.

_How do they move in such a state? What evil is required to do so?_

Melisandre watched the Lady face off against the crowd. One of the dead stepped forward. Apparently a representative of the rest, although Melisandre could not decipher how he was chosen, or why he stood apart. The dead man faced the Lady. The pair of them watched each other, stony similar expressions on either face, as if two halves of a coin.

“Move.”

Lady Stoneheart spoke first in a low rasping voice. Although her voice was quiet, it held an air of command about it and Melisandre shivered as she heard it. The dead man continued to stare at them unblinking.

_Can they even hear? Did her command fall on literal deaf ears?_

“Move.”

Once again the Lady spoke, this time more forcefully although still with a calm demeanor. Her voice was a little louder and carried farther than the first time. Several among the crowd of the dead turned to face them now. It seemed they were garnering attention, something Melisandre was eager to avoid.

The Lady was growing impatient now. She seemed flustered, visibly annoyed. It was something that Melisandre had seen only once. But if she could help it, she would never be on the receiving end of the Lady's wrath ever again.

“Move!”

Gone was the quiet confidence that came about with always getting your way. The Lady was angry now and her voice thundered through the air. Melisandre squirmed in her saddle, the command sending shivers down her spine. The air seemed to stop, snow frozen in animation, hanging in place. Yet then it passed, and Melisandre wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her.

This time, the command did not go unheeded. Melisandre watched in wonder as the dead staggered back as if struck, and then parted. The crowd backed away from the Lady, leaving a space wide enough for two horses to pass by in a column. The Lady shot a glance back over her shoulder at Melisandre and seemed to grin.

_There is still time to run. Time to escape and never look back._

Yet she knew there was no where to go but too her death of she left the group. And even if it was an option, she knew fear would keep her in her place. Instead of turning back, she went forward. Forward into the breach. She followed behind Lady Stoneheart riding alongside Thoros.

The horses shied away from the dead as the trudged through the snow, but the short journey through to the other side was otherwise uneventful. Finally they were out, past the end of the dead and Melisandre exhaled the breath that she had been holding the entire way through.

Her clothes reeked of decaying flesh, a scent that cloyed at her nose and throat, threatening to make her gag. As they continued, the smell slowly lessened although it was still there, an unpleasant reminder of what lay behind them.

The rode in silence for what Melisandre guessed were several more hours. The sky began to darken and she wondered when they would make camp. She had grown accustomed to making camp in the snow as the world grew dark around them.

They would bed the horses down in a circle, secured with rope so that they would not bolt during the night. Rough blankets would then be thrown over the horses backs to create a block from the wind. There was no fire to be had, and what warmth could be found came from huddling together as a group, miserable the whole night.

She was tired, and did not look forward to their nightly ritual. Her face was numb and she felt her eyelids beginning to droop. A dark shadow crossed her vision giving her a sudden jolt of energy.

_Not again! Are there more of them?_

This shadow was larger though, made evident as they drew closer. Visions swam in front of her eyes and Melisandre rubbed them to make sure she was not hallucinating. She was not imagining it. The darkness beginning to take shape, suddenly loomed over her high ahead.

_A castle of some sort. It must be! There is a tower, and those must be walls._

She spoke through chattering teeth.

“Where are we?”

The Lady turned around and stared right at Melisandre holding her gaze. Her face was as blank as the fresh canvas of snow all around them as she replied.

“Home.”

\---Arya---

She rocked the chair back on its hind legs as she propped her own up on his bed. Jon was sleeping peacefully, lost to the world. His shoulder wound was healing well enough, yet still it caused him grief when he attempted to sleep. The maesters had given him a sedative to help him through the night.

_I wonder which wound it is that troubles him so. He has so many._

She shifted position and leaned forward to study his face. She tucked a strand of his curly hair, stuck in the stubble on his face, back behind his ear. Her gaze shifted to his eyes and she was startled to find them open and awake. She stifled a gasp.

“Sorry I didn't mean to scare you so. I thought you were someone else.”

She waved his worry away.

“Never mind Jon. How did you sleep?”

“Better.”

His eyes searched the room as he spoke.

“She was here but a minute ago. I took her place so that she might get some rest. She has a kingdom to run you know.”

Jon shifted uncomfortably in his bed, a look of guilt spreading across his face.

“I am teasing, you know. I have made sure she is safe enough whenever I am not here spending time with you.”

“I feel so useless. Laying here in bed all day while there is work to be done. I need to get up and move.”

“Soon. You should be back to yourself in no time. In the meanwhile, let me update you on what I have discovered.”

Jon's eyes cleared instantly and he groaned as he pushed himself up in bed to a sitting position. Arya moved to help prop up a pillow behind his back and he grunted his thanks. She nodded.

“No movement in the North. The dead seem to be content to stay put for now although Winter has begun to spread farther south even still. There are reports of snow storms blanketing the ground as far south as Riverrun.”

“And what of The Eyrie? Has there been any word from Sansa? Of Littlefinger?”

Arya shook her head.

“Nothing. No word. She will be alright Jon. Give it time.”

He huffed loudly at that. She knew she sounded unconvincing.

“And what of things more locally? Any luck tracking down those responsible for attacking us?”

She stood up and began to pace as she ran down what she knew so far.

“Jaime has been monitored closely, as has Tyrion.”

“Do you really thing Tyrion could be responsible? After all he has done to help bring her to power?”

Arya shrugged.

“No I don't. Yet no one is who they seem in King's Landing. We should know that by now.”

“I suppose you are right. And what of Jaime?”

Arya poured Jon a glass of water from a beaker standing close by and handed it to him.

“Jaime is a broken man, a shell of his former self. I don't think he cares enough about anything left in this world enough to rise from his bed. If any of the Lannisters were responsible for this attack, my money is on someone other than those two.”

Jon took a long draw from the glass in his hand and nodded.

“So if not the Lannisters, who then? We still have many enemies who would gain from Daenerys' downfall.”

Arya paused in thought.

“Littlefinger sent Sansa a letter with a very thinly veiled threat against Daenerys and everyone by her side. He is clearly capable enough to plan something like this. And to place the blame squarely at the feet of the Lannisters is exactly like him.”

“I wonder,” Jon paused before continuing quietly. “I wonder just how much of this mess was brought about by Littlefinger.”

For that, Arya had no answer and they both lapsed into silence.

“Anyway. I have a lead. I spent yesterday searching while I was not here and I think I found something. Daenerys wanted me to let her know once you woke, and now that you have, I will go find her and then investigate this further.”

“Let me know what you find out. Oh and Arya? Be careful.”

Arya made her way to the door but glanced back before she left the room. She patted Needle at her side with her hand.

“I always am.”

\------

Arya sat on a street corner, an almost empty bowl in one hand, a dirty cloak draped across her shoulders. A hood was pulled over her head covering it and her back was hunched. She gave off every appearance of a beggar yet she was not fishing for coin. She was after something much bigger.

She had been waiting for several hours and the sun was beginning to set rapidly. Torches were lit along the road giving off pinpricks of light in the growing darkness. There still was a fair amount of foot traffic making its way down the road, and the occasionally passing of mounted Dothraki would cause everyone to scurry whenever they went by.

Arya was listening for a certain voice. Listening intently and blocking out any unnecessary commotion, just as she had learned to do when she was blind. She continued to focus her hearing from one thing to the next as the day wore on and her head began to hurt from concentration. A group of traveling merchants strode by chatting about prices of goods and she ignored them.

She shifted her attention and was reward by the faintest whisper floating her way like a leaf on the breeze. She continued to listen carefully before engaging her other senses to spot the stranger. She raised her head ever so slightly so that she could peek out from under her hood and caught a glimpse of two strangers talking across the road.

The two men were carrying on in an animated conversation and they appeared to be arguing. They were glancing about suspiciously at any one who walked by, and were sure to spot her if she approached them directly.

Arya glanced down the road and caught glimpse of another Dothraki patrol making its way towards her position. She rose from her seated position slowly, taking time to give the appearance of an old lady, but also to stretch out her knees that had grown stiff from sitting in place for so long. She massaged the side of her leg to get the blood flowing once again and waited.

A group of several travelers was approaching, heads down, avoiding eye contact from anyone. Arya ducked out of the light of one of the roadside torches attached to the wall of a nearby building, and melded quickly into the darkness. She reappeared once again stepping in time just behind the travelers heading towards the Dothraki patrol.

Arya allowed herself a brief sideways glance at her target but they seemed otherwise unaware of her change in position. She bid her time and waited, walking slowly and waiting for the Dothraki to pass her by.

An opportunity presented itself as they passed and she dove under one of the horses quickly, rolled between its gait, and came out the other side. She popped up quickly on the opposite side of the road and looked around to see if anyone noticed. The road was poorly lit in places, and if anyone saw her make her move, they gave no indication of it.

She began to walk in the other direction now, back towards the two men on the side of the road who were still arguing. She fell into the flow of the traffic and listened as she drew closer.

“...we have to try again, and quickly. You know as well as I, failure is not an option.”

“Trying anything now would be suicide. It is too soon. We have to be patient and take our time.”

The first man grabbed the other by his arm and pulled him towards the shadows of the alley, looking back over his shoulder towards the street as he went. His gaze passed over Arya, but there was no recognition in his face. She slipped out of the crowd and to the edge of the building at the mouth of the alleyway. She peered around the corner of the building and cursed when there was no one to be seen.

She took off in a jog, careful to stick to the shadows in case her targets were lying in wait. No immediate attack came however and so she picked up her pace just a little, her silent footfalls landing on the deaf walls that surrounded her.

She followed the alley as it grew darker, relying more and more on her sense of sound to guide her way. An alarm went off in her head, as if some sixth sense was triggered, and she threw herself sideways impacting hard against a building wall. She saw nothing, yet heard a blade cut through the air only to miss its mark. She grunted from the impact and held her side as she gasped for breath.

Her eyes had become somewhat accustomed to the dark now, and she was able to make out two dark figures standing across from her, illuminated ever so slightly by the lidded moon in the sky.

“Let's do for her and be done with it. Make it quick.”

“Come here little girl. You're trying to steal from the wrong people.”

She grinned viciously as they closed on her from two sides, and drew Needle from its sheath on her belt. The blade reflected what light there was in the alley, and seemed to glow for second. This gave the two men pause, but after a brief moment of hesitation, a look passed between the two and they continued their advance.

Instead of waiting for them to ring her in, she feinted right then dashed left past the unsuspecting man on her left. He swung his short blade awkwardly but was not ready for such a brash move. His blow was no where close to landing.

Arya ran towards the opposite wall with both men still in hot pursuit. She was careful to avoid slipping on the loose gravel that lay scattered about absentmindedly on the uneven alley. The alley wall rose up in front of her rapidly, yet she did not stop.

Rather she continued at full speed towards the wall and leapt. Her right foot hit the wall solidly about waist high, while the second climbed higher still. She compressed her body as tightly as possible and with great effort, exploded off the wall using her left foot.

She sailed effortlessly over her attackers heads as they watched mouths agape and landed with a flourish behind them.

_A better performance, I could not have given._

She wasted no time. She needed only one for information. Any more than that was just an unnecessary complication. Her blow came like the deadly strike of a snake and suddenly there was just one remaining.

The lone man standing beside his fallen comrade took one more look at her and then turned and ran.

_Of course. It is never easy._

Arya followed the man closely, careful not to trip and fall and lose him. He continued on, just out of her reach until he came to a dead end. He showed no signs of stopping however and simply vaulted up and over the short obstruction.

_Very impressive. Maybe we will have a little fun after all._

She hit the wall running as well, but instead up continuing down to the ground on the other side, she chose the rooftop instead. The tiles were slippery from the damp of the night yet the height offered a better vantage point of her target.

_As long as I am careful, I should be fine._

She continued to run on top of the roof, careful to avoid a surely nasty fall, always cognizant of her targets location. He twisted and turned, winding further and further into the back alleys of the city. Several unsavory characters were startled as he flew by, but he was gone before they could get a word out.

The relatively sure footing of the nicer parts of King's Landing gave way to rickety structures of poor build, many with gaping holes in the ceiling. It was growing more and more difficult to maintain her balance.

_I need to end this quickly before I fall and break my neck. Jon would never let me hear the end of it._

She was right above him now, she could hear his heavy breathing and his laboring footfalls as he began to slow. She reached the edge of the building hovering just above him and vaulted into the air. For a second it felt like flying.

_I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a dragon._

She was brought back to earth all too soon. With Needle extended, she came crashing down into the man from above, skewering him through the shoulder. He hit the ground screaming in pain but was pinned in place by the blade stuck going through his shoulder into the ground.

Arya kicked the knife that he had dropped unattended away out of his arms length. She crouched over him, a nonchalant look on her face as he whined.

“I think it's time we had a talk.”

\---Daenerys---

The day was still young, the sun had yet to reach its zenith in the sky. It was an uncharacteristically mild day for winter, yet a chill still clung to the air unwilling to relinquish its hold. A clash of steel erupted from below in the training ground as she watched from above with Missandei.

Tyrion had spent most of the morning by her side reading reports and answering questions but he had since disappeared to take care of an issue with the promise that he would return to her side once he was finished.

A shout from below drew her eyes to the goings-on down below. Jon was in the middle of a sparring session with one of his men. She hoped they were taking it easy, yet that was clearly not the case. She sighed to Missandei.

“Does he ever rest?”

“Do you?”

Daenerys rolled her eyes while mirth filled Missandei's.

“Truly,” Missandei continued, “You are lucky he is this way. You two are much the same.”

“Yes, lucky...”

Daenerys pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and surveyed the view spread out before her. Jon was shirtless on the training floor below. He wore only simple breeches and fitted leather shoes that allowed for quick movement on the dirt under his feet. His hair was pulled back in a knot to keep it out of his face as he moved.

Despite the temperature of the day, sweet still formed on his bare chest, running rivulets down his torso that were destined to be flung away when he went on the attack. The bandage on his shoulder was damp from his exertion, and she could tell that he was still favoring it every time he locked blows with his opponent.

Despite this limitation, he still moved quickly, much to quickly for his sparring partner, and Daenerys could tell he was holding back. His skin seemed to glisten in the bright sunlight, and he moved with a grace that still amazed her every time she was witness to it.

_A spectacular view all things considered._

Missandei seemed to agree.

“He seems to have regained his form. His wound appears to be bothering him only the slightest.”

Daenerys struggled to find her words, and when she did, her voice came out sounding raspy and hoarse.

“It would appear so.”

She tried to sound casual, yet she found it hard to do so when her eyes seemed to be fixed to his every movement. She tried to shift her eyes from him, but there was no hope of escape. Missandei smiled knowingly but said nothing.

Below, Jon went on the offensive again, feinting then darting away, doing just enough to keep his opponent on the defensive, yet not enough to break through. Jon laughed joyfully at some unheard joke and Daenerys smiled.

_He is happy here, this is his place. It is good to see him in this manner._

Jon fell back into a defensive crouch and beckoned with his off hand. He began to parry a series of intricate attacks with blinding speed that Daenerys quickly lost track of. She struggled to pull her focus away from him and back to her work yet before she could, Jon cried out and lost his grip on his sword.

Daenerys watched in horror as a practice sword continued its downward stroke towards Jon's head, with suddenly nothing in its way to stop it. Jon recovered just in time, rolling to his right as the blow narrowed avoided colliding with his head.

Jon made his way back to his feet and reassured the stammering man facing him that it was not his fault. Jon waved away the mans hurried apologies and went to pick up his sword from where it had fallen. Daenerys had had enough of this.

“Silly man,” she muttered under her breath. “Accident or no, this has gone on long enough.”

She handed the letter in her hand to Missandei, gathered her dress around her, and marched down the steps towards the training ground. One of her Unsullied standing guard at the bottom quickly opened the door leading out to where Jon was getting ready to spar once again.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Her voice came across more shrill then she would have liked. She took a deep breath as she struggled to calm her nerves. She marched across the ground, uncaring that the hem of her dress was trailing behind her in the dirt.

Jon turned around to stare at her marching towards him in her royal garb, dress billowing behind her.

“I could ask you the same thing. Respectfully, this field is no place for a queen.”

She placed her hands on her hips and shot him what she hopped was her most stern expression.

“Nor you in your current condition.”

His smile faded slightly and he flexed his bandage shoulder backwards.

“What this? I have had much worse. It barely slows me down. Besides, I have to keep sharp.”

“There is a fine line between keeping sharp and overdoing it Jon. You have to be careful.”

He studied her face and stern posture and his smile returned to normal.

“Of course Daenerys. You are right. I believe I have had enough for one day.”

He handed his sword to a squire nearby and nodded his thanks to the boy. He moved towards Daenerys as she watched him.

“Come on. Let's get you out of here.”

Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms and made his way towards the gate to exit the training ground. She admonished him as they walked.

“I don't believe this is entirely necessary.”

_Although not unpleasant by any means. I could get used to this._

He said nothing and gently placed her back down once they had cleared the muddy field. She began to make her way back to Missandei's side but Jon did not follow her. She looked at him questioningly.

“I do not believe I am in a fit condition to discuss matters of state.”

He lifted his legs up to reveal their muddy state and he wiped at his bare chest with his hands. She had to force herself not to stare once again.

“Nonsense. Missandei has everything you need to refresh yourself. Besides it will be just us, no one to entertain to today.”

He shrugged his indifference and fell into step behind her. Once they made it back to Missandei, they found a bowl of water and several clean linens waiting for them. Jon cleaned his torso, legs, and arms then dried them off. A fresh shirt was brought before him which he quickly donned, much to Daenerys chagrin.

She handed him a report and began to summarize its contents as he read.

“As you know, this city is full to its brim. We cannot sustain our current population. We have begun to export those we can to the south. How many we can feasibly move is still up for discussion. Simply put, our southern lands have room, and we do not.”

Jon nodded and took a seat beside her still reading.

“We have heard no word from the Tyrells or the Martells after their victory at Lannisport, a fact which is growing troubling. We have sent word, requesting an update on what they plan to do next.”

Jon set the report down.

“And what of the attack on you Daenerys, the attack on the queen. What word of that?”

Daenerys exchanged a quick look with Missandei before beginning cautiously.

“Nothing yet. But Lord Varys is investigating. We will know something soon. Best not to fret over it until there is something to worry about.”

Jon sat back in his chair, hands folded in a steeple in front of him, deep in thought. The door nearby rattled as it was shoved open and in walked Tyrion who carried a worried expression with him. He nodded his greeting with pursed lips to both Jon and Daenerys before breaking his silence.

“I have just received word from our scouts. The White Walkers are on the move.”

\---Sansa---

Sansa was weary, weary enough to lay down where she now stood and sleep instantly. Sir Davos stood beside her wavering a little, looking no better than she. Their voyage to the Vale from Blackwater Bay and then down the Bay of Crabs had been rough, the winter weather causing rough sailing the whole way. Once they finally reached the Vale, they had been rewarded with snow, and their journey to The Eyrie had been more arduous still.

Whatever strength Sansa had had at the beginning of this journey, it had now wasted away to nothing. They were waiting now, waiting for the guard to summon them. She had announced her arrival upon reaching the mountain top and she assumed she would be ushered to see Littlefinger as quickly as possible. Once again however, he had other plans.

The guard finally returned, pulling open the door leading into the High Hall of the Eyrie.

“You may enter now. Lord Baelish is waiting for you.”

Together Sansa and Davos trudged towards the doorway slowly, tired, and more than a little bit hungry. The guard raised his right hand in response.

“Not you. Only her.”

He pointed at Sansa with his finger before standing aside and motioning her to enter ahead of him. Sansa exchanged a look with Davos and rested her hand on his weary shoulder.

“It's fine. I will be fine. Stay here and get some rest. See if you can find something to eat.”

Davos looked like he wanted to argue, but he was too tired to do so. He simply nodded and headed in the other direction. Sansa shot the guard a timid smile and then entered the room. The guard stayed outside of the High Hall, and shut the door behind her with a resounding clatter.

The room was well lit, with many candles adorning the Hall. She scanned the room looking for Littlefinger, but there was no sight of him. She frowned slightly to herself. The Moon Door dominated the center of the room, sitting in an ominous circle. Further away, the throne made for the leader of House Arryn stood empty, a throne made entirely of weirwood.

There were benches surrounding the Moon Door and Sansa moved towards one and gratefully fell onto it, glad to finally have a place to rest. Her mind was almost too tired for coherent thought and she struggled to avoid falling asleep.

“Sansa.”

The voice was soft, yet it sent a jolt of energy coursing through her, and she stood up a little too quickly as the blood rushed to her head. She wobbled for a second then felt two hands steady her firmly. Her vision cleared and Littlefinger appeared before her a look of concern on his face.

“You look unwell Lady Sansa. I wish you would have informed me of you intention to travel to the Vale. I could have made your trip much more pleasant.”

Sansa shook her head sadly.

“As much as I would have liked that. This had to be done in secret.”

Littlefinger took a step back at that, letting his hands fall to his side. A curious look crept over his face and Sansa thought she saw something flash across his eyes. She turned away from him and walked slowly towards the vast open maw of the Moon Door.

The air whistled by, right under the opening, and the distance to the ground seemed to stretch on forever. A vision danced across Sansa's vision, a memory from another lifetime.

_Aunt Lysa grabbed her by the back of the neck and shoved her towards the edge._

“ _Liar! He is mine!”_

_Sansa wept, begging her aunt to let her go._

“ _Look down. Look down, look down, look down!”_

_A clear voice cut through the chaos, demanding attention._

“ _Lysa!”_

_Aunt Lysa turned around as Littlefinger approached the pair of them by the edge slowly._

“ _Let her go.”_

“ _You want her. This empty headed child.”_

“ _Let. Her. Go.”_

“ _She's just like her mother. She will never love you.”_

“ _I lied for you. I killed for you.”_

_Lysa was weeping openly now. Littlefinger looked at her, a look that held little pity, and mostly just open disgust. Littlefinger lifted his hand in a placating manner._

“ _I'll send her away. I promise. Just let her go.”_

_Her Aunt Lysa threw Sansa away from the edge and leaned desperately against the short wall that surrounded the opening of the Moon Door. She began to sob heavily now, a wail that echoed around the room, filling the great chamber to the brim. Littlefinger slowly made his way to Lysa's side and helped her to her feet._

“ _Silly wife. I have only ever loved one woman. Only one my entire life.”_

_His voice carried with it great weight and finality, and Lysa gazed up at him with a sickly smile._

“ _Your sister.”_

_The smile fell from her face, just as Littlefinger launched her out into emptiness. Aunt Lysa screamed as she plummeted through the moon door._

“Sansa. Why have you come here?”

Littlefinger's steady voice brought her back to reality. Sansa turned away from the edge and walked slowly to face him. Her height and his stature brought them eye to eye. Sansa tried to keep her voice from wavering.

“I used to know what I want, but then she took it from me.”

Sansa looked him in the eye, steady as can be.

“You once told me, 'Whenever I consider an action, I ask myself. Will this action help me make this picture a reality?'”

She turned away from him to face the Moon Door once more.

“That is what I am doing here. That is why I have come.”

Littlefinger approached her closely from behind and place his hand lightly on her shoulder.

“And what, my sweetling, do you desire? What is your picture?”

She answered in a soft voice, as if just realizing it herself for the first time.

“My picture Lord Baelish, is not so different from your own.”

She twirled to face him, dress wrapping around her legs as she turned.

“I know what I want now. I turned from your side before, yet I was not ready. You have taught me much, yet there is still far for me to go. Much I have yet to learn.”

Littlefinger grasped her tightly by the arms once again, a smirk dancing across his face.

“Ah my love. I never doubted you, never doubted what you would become. To know you feel this way, to know our interests align so, this is what I wanted.”

Sansa let a small smile slip across her face as she took hold of Littlefinger in turn, pulling them closer together. Littlefinger's smirk increased.

“You told me once what you wanted. Let me return the favor.”

Sansa leaned in slowly and kissed him, once on the mouth with her lips, and once between the ribs with her blade. He gasped in shock and relinquished his grip on her, falling backward clutching at the knife stuck in his chest. He tripped and fell backwards onto the floor as the red spot around the knife began to bloom.

He coughed, blood spattering from his lips as Sansa watched. She moved closer to him and knelt by his side. He stared at her with a strange expression, as if for once, he had not foreseen this outcome.

“You should have known. I have only ever loved one man.”

He laughed at that, a laugh that caught in his throat and died just as soon as it began. He sputtered, attempting to speak.

“Of course...I taught you well...Too well it seem...I thought I could use you but...”

His eyes grew tired as the life fled from his body. He suddenly grabbed her arm tightly with his bloodied hand with a ferocity that frightened her.

“You must be the one...The one to take the Iron Throne...You are the only one worthy...The only one good enough at the game...”

Littlefinger expired as his last breath drifted away. She closed his blank, expressionless eyes as another wave of exhaustion threatened to engulf her in darkness. Alarm bells began to ring outside.

_This must be the end. Surely they will catch me and kill me. At least Jon will be safe..._

Fighting at the door erupted and Sansa steeled herself to face whatever made it through the door. The wooden door burst open roughly, almost enough to take it off its hinges and Sir Davos rambled into the room, looking somehow worse than how she had left him. A great gash ran down his left arm and his sword was drawn and covered in blood.

He looked wildly around the room before his gaze settled on her and Littlefinger. His eyes went wide at the scene arrayed before him, but he recovered quickly. Davos rushed to her side and pulled her roughly to her feet with a sense of urgency. He shook her by the shoulders in an attempt to clear her from the daze she was in.

Sansa was finally able to focus on the sound of his voice, yet his words brought no comfort.

“Sansa. We must leave this place immediately. They are here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The relative calm before the storm. This story is now entering what I would consider the third act. My goal is to have it completed before the new season of GOT begins this summer. Comments/Kudos are appreciated, and thank you for the support as always! The GOT/ASOIAF community is awesome!


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